


Pride...Before You Fall

by JessicaDoom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Challenge, Coming Out, Drabble Sequence, Ficlet Collection, First Time, Gay Pride, Hand Jobs, Harry is a Mess Y'all, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pride, Pride Advent, Sexual Identity, Virgin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaDoom/pseuds/JessicaDoom
Summary: After everything he'd gone through, all Harry wanted was to live a normal life. He didn't want there to be anything extraordinary about him, not one bit. He didn't want to make the papers anymore. He didn't want his name laced into anyone's rumours or gossip. All he wanted was to be at peace for once in his bloody miserable life.When Harry Potter finally finds himself ready to come out, it starts to feel like life is giving him more questions than answers. The last place he expects to find any sort of solace is at Draco Malfoy's doorstep. But something about Malfoy just...feels like all those little missing pieces of himself are coming together in a way he just doesn't think he can ignore.A 30-day Pride-focused Drarry challenge.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 77
Kudos: 136
Collections: Pride Month 2020





	1. Pride

**Author's Note:**

> I will be writing this piece one chapter per day through the month of June. Each day will be focused on a new pride-related prompt (sorry, I'm using a prompt list from last year - it called to me more!). Since I'm writing each chapter a day at a time, I don't yet know where this story will go or the plot. All I know is it will be Drarry. I hope you stick around and enjoy the journey!  
>   
>  **Please note: The homophobia expressed by a few of the characters most certainly does not reflect the views of the author.**

Harry awoke that morning, bathed in a brilliant and inescapable rainbow.

In a severe lapse of common sense, he had forgotten to draw closed the curtains before falling into bed the night before. As it does every morning, the sun rose and did its thing — bright and intrusive through his east-facing window. Except, this morning, its harsh yellow was tempered by an unexpected, colourful barrier.

Although he was mostly useless without his glasses, Harry could still easily make out the way every inch of his bedroom now appeared to be painted. He reached for his side table, squinting around the room in a delirious early morning haze.

After an embarrassing moment of fumbling, he finally managed to locate his round frames and mash them onto his face. With the clarity came understanding, accompanied by a wan smile.

Outside Harry's window, draped likely from the flat above his own, was a flag. A rainbow flag, to be precise. Its six colours perfectly covered the glass, broadcasting them across every inch of his bedroom like a filter had been placed directly over the sun. He ran his fingers over his usually white sheets, thick red and orange stripes coating his skin as he processed the slow formation of his full understanding. A frown steadily replaced the smile on his lips, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh.

It appeared to be the first of June, forced upon him in full, spectacular force.

The instant everything finished processing in his mind, Harry flung his sheets aside and practically stomped out of the room. He made certain to slam the door behind him, as if the violence of shutting the colours away could do anything to change the slimy tendrils of shame coiling in his belly. As if it could do anything to change the celebration kicking off around the world, once again leaving him behind.

Every year, Harry promised himself a change to the one before. And, every year, the entirety of June passed him by like it was just another month in the rotation. Every single fucking year, he cursed himself for his cowardice and drowned himself in self-deprecation.

Harry didn't deserve to wake under the glow of Pride. He didn't deserve its blanket of hope and history. He had done nothing to deserve it.

"Don't be so dramatic, Potter," Harry muttered under his breath even as he, rather dramatically, leaned his shoulder into the door and rested his forehead against the solid, grounding wood. "You'll make this your year. You _will_."

With those words in mind like a mantra, he pushed off the door and wrenched it back open. Staring the colourful glow straight on with conviction in his clenched fists.

No one was around to hear them, but Harry felt it was important to back up his resolution with real words. If anything, he needed to prove it to himself that he could even say them. It felt like a step in the right direction. Like a commitment. He strode back through the door, right up to the window. The flag outside rippled in the slight breeze, like it was greeting him. With irrational delicacy, he grazed his fingertips over the glass and released a breath, feeling oddly comforted by his actions.

For a long while, all he could manage was standing there, confronting the discomfort of being face to face with his inadequacy. He repeated what he wanted to say over and over again in his head, willing his lips to just form the words. Willing himself to be brave, at the very least for himself, even while his heart ran rampant in his chest.

Only once he'd closed his eyes did Harry finally feel ready to be out with it. He logged that away for the future, sure the coping mechanism would come in handy when he did this with real people and not just the idea of them. His hands shaking and breathing ragged, he finally whispered, "I like…," his voice dying out when he realized the words didn't feel right. They didn't feel blunt or real enough, even if they were true. They felt evasive.

No, he needed to attack this as it really was. He needed to say it. _Really_ say it.

Harry allowed himself one more breath in and exhaustively out before he decided his time was up. Still in that darkness, the colours of the flag muddling together against the inside of his eyelids, he spoke what he'd always been afraid to.

"I _am_ gay."

And, for the first time in his life, everything in the world felt truly and wholly _right_. He felt affirmed. He felt real and himself and….

 _Pride_.

Deep within him, ballooning his heart and pulling the corners of his lips into a serene smile, he felt the light reassurance of pride beginning to take over.

He could do this — he _would_ do this. For real this time.


	2. Life

It had been five and a half years since Harry finally came to terms with it all. Five and a half years of internal debate. Five and a half years in a lonely apartment. Five and a half years of lying and creative evading.

Five and a half years of his life passing him by, wasted.

Ending things with Ginny had been the tipping off point. Everyone told him he was mental to let a girl like that go. And it honestly seemed like he was. But things just…didn't _feel_ right with her. Not in the way they should have. Kissing her felt like a lie, but he could never figure out why. And Merlin forbid if he ever truly desired to do any more than that with her….

He supposed he should have known for quite some time. It sounded ridiculous, even in his own head, that someone wouldn't notice the particular way it felt when a man caught their eye. But he had to rationalize that he just didn't have the same life everyone else had. By the time sexual attraction had become a thing to worry about, he was rather preoccupied with other matters — saving lives and hunting dark wizards, namely. It made sense to him that his brain might have taken clues from those around him on what to do with the hormones budding within. He didn't know anyone who hadn't adhered to the "normal" way of pairing off. How could he have really known there were other options to choose from?

Once he'd moved into his own place, after perhaps too long of a stay at the Burrow, things began to make a little more sense. He found a flat in Islington, filled it with the few possessions he had from his childhood, and resolved to make a better life out of what he'd been given. He rejected the Ministry's offer to start Auror training — following the war, his once-desired career path now lacked its previous glamour — and chose, instead, to devote his time to teaching a small handful of self-defence classes at St. Mungo's. He built himself a life worth living, one full of purpose and guided by free will.

But, also, one devoid of love and acceptance, choosing to keep a very important part of himself hidden away.

After everything he'd gone through, all Harry wanted was to live a normal life. He didn't want there to be anything extraordinary about him, not one bit. He didn't want to make the papers anymore. He didn't want his name laced into anyone's rumours or gossip. All he wanted was to be at peace for once in his bloody miserable life.

When the gravity of Harry's feelings for men — the thing which broke through his solace and set him apart as _different_ — finally and fully dawned on him, his first instinct was to hide it. He couldn't let it affect the safe space he was trying to build for himself. So, he buried the intrusive thoughts and feelings. He wouldn't acknowledge them, allowing them to fester within him like an untreated infection.

After some time, he realized the flaw in his strategy — he wasn't happy. All of his friends and schoolmates fell in and out of love around him, navigating the waters of their adulthood with happiness and heartbreak. And all Harry managed to feel was left out.

Left _behind_.

It just wasn't a way to live one's life. Harry hated to feel so hollow. Sure, he had the company of his friends, but it just wasn't quite enough. Not when he compared himself to everyone else. In his effort to be normal, he'd ended up pushing himself in the opposite direction.

But enough was enough. Three years ago, he'd decided as much. But, as those three years went by, he never managed to find the courage needed to do something about it.

Well, this year was different. He stood before his fireplace, the waiting flames within emerald green from the Floo powder, one-hundred-percent resolved in his decision, even while his shaking hands betrayed his anxiety. All he had to do was step though to Ron and Hermione's place. It was simple. It was easy.

It was taking him ages to work up the courage.

"It's just dinner," Harry reminded himself through gritted teeth, lining his toes up with the edge of the area rug before the fire. It wasn't a major step forward, but at least he'd gained a few centimetres. "Just like we do every single week. Just dinner…." He sighed. If it was _just_ dinner, he wouldn't be nearly so worked up. But if he could eventually get himself to normalize what he was working up to do, well, then everything from there on would be a piece of cake, wouldn't it?

Speaking of cake…. Ron had said he was going to try a new recipe, something rich and chocolatey. "If you walk through that Floo _— and_ tell your friends you're gay — then you can have cake," he rationalized with himself, surprisingly finding the promise soothing. Even if things went pear-shaped ( _Which they won't, because your friends will accept you._ ) he had, at the very least, just given himself permission to run off with a soothing dessert. Which meant, either way, it would be fine.

"Right. Now that's settled," he huffed, crossing the rest of the way to the fire, "get on with it."


	3. Red Letter Day

Harry's Gryffindor bravado waned the instant he stepped out of his friends' fireplace. He wished he could blame that action on something tangible either Ron or Hermione did or said, but he couldn't. The truth was, he just froze. After all the psyching up, he had fully intended to just be out with it. Get it over and done with.

But that was easier said than done. The words weighed heavy on his tongue, a burden he wished to offload, but it just wasn't that simple. As much as it honestly should have been.

Harry's friends had never been anything but kind and honest with him. He knew it was ridiculous to fear their reaction. They might end up being surprised, but he couldn't imagine them reacting unkindly. It was just that they, like everyone else, already had a solid perception of him. This one little, almost insignificant thing about him could change everything about the way they acted towards him.

Or, more likely, it could change nothing.

Harry honestly wasn't sure which of those two outcomes he dreaded most.

"Harry? Cake?"

Blinking himself out of his fretful daze, Harry looked up at Hermione and plastered on an expected grin. "Of course," he laughed, even while feeling the guilt of not yet having earned his prize. If he was going to do this — really do it — he didn't have much time left. "Wait," he countered, wincing despite the conviction in his voice. "Before we do dessert…." He stalled, pushing around the remnants of stew at the bottom of his bowl. Even just the idea of suggesting he had something to confess had him shaking.

"Everything okay?" Hermione was frowning, he could hear it in her voice. It dripped with concern and confusion as she retook the seat across from him, all thoughts of cake forgotten for the moment.

Harry nodded slowly, but said nothing further. Every time he tried to open his mouth, the words stalled and died in his constricted throat. He felt like he could cry at any moment, but couldn't discern if they were tears of waiting relief or of irrational fear.

It was Ron who broke the silence first, reaching across the table to push Harry's bowl aside while gently saying his name. Since he had nothing left to focus on, Harry finally looked up and took in Ron's easy smile. "You've looked like a bundle of nerves all night. What's going on, mate?"

"I just— I just need to tell you…." Harry pulled in a deep breath, counting to five before pushing it back out along with his carefully practiced words. Even to his ears, with the world still and silent around him, they sounded rushed and garbled. But he'd said them and that was all that mattered. It was now completely out of his hands and all he could do was sit and wait for a reaction.

Since he'd made up his mind to come out, Harry had been trying to guess how both of his friends would react. He was sure whatever it was, it would be laced with a modicum of reassurance. Ron would probably be in full disbelief and Hermione would likely thank him for his honesty. That was what he was expecting, even if part of him did still believe they might react negatively.

What Harry wasn't expecting was laughter. But now that he heard it explode between the couple after a quick, shared glance at one another, it felt like all of his worst fears had become fully realized. His eyes grew wide and it took every ounce of his restraint to keep from tearing out of his chair to leave. "It wasn't a joke," he whispered in partial skepticism. There could be no way they were really laughing at him…right?

Hermione sobered first, her expression falling to match Harry's crestfallen look nearly perfectly. "Oh, no no no," she said gently, a full turnaround from a moment earlier. She reached across the table to gently squeeze Harry's hands atop the table. They'd formed fists without him realizing but relaxed at her touch. "We're not laughing at you, I swear. It's just— Harry, we already knew that."

"It's about bloody time," Ron continued on a dying chuckle.

"You knew?"

"Yeah, we've been taking bets on when you'd tell us."

Hermione winced at her husband's admission, but shrugged in affirmation. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you're simply not as subtle as you think."

"Just saw you checkin' out a bloke's ass last week," Ron agreed. "To be fair, he was well fit, even if he wasn't really type."

And he thought he'd been so damn careful…. Harry flushed deep red at being caught and returned his gaze to the table. None of this was going the way he'd planned it to. There was no surprise which somehow left him feeling robbed. This was meant to be a big thing, coming out. It was supposed to be a day he remembered forever. Something he marked on his calendar and celebrated every year like a damn bank holiday. But all he really felt in that moment was silly. He'd waited and fretted and obsessed over this for years just for his friends to literally laugh it off like it didn't matter?

Of course, he was lucky they were so supportive, there was no denying that. But couldn't they have at least let him have his moment?

"Fuck," Harry finally sighed, finding that no other words appropriately summed up the way he'd wasted five and half years of his life. "Well, I'll take that slice of cake now, if it's all the same." If he couldn't relish in his moment of personal bravery, at the very least he could indulge himself on chocolate ganache.

Besides, he still had loads more people to still tell — his other friends, Teddy and Andromeda, and the staff he worked with at St Mungo's. Maybe he'd even tell the Dursleys eventually. They were, after all, family. Everyone else would be appropriately surprised and fill that strange need for validation he seemed to need. There was no way everyone else "already knew", too. This had to be a fluke since Ron and Hermione knew him better than anyone else.

Right?


	4. Marsha P. Johnson Quote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quote: "I may be crazy, but that don't make me wrong." - Marsha P. Johnson**

"Oh, Harry, I'm so proud that you finally decided to tell me!"

After Ron and Hermione, Luna was the first person Harry wanted to come out to. If anyone ever made him want to be his real, authentic self, it was Luna Lovegood. She set an example he wanted to live up to every day of her life. Like right in that moment as she sat cross-legged on the paved bank of the Serpentine — she wore a bright yellow sundress with eggplant-coloured wellies, her long blonde waves pulled up into several-too-many knots around her head. In her outstretched palm was a smattering of nuts and seeds which she enthusiastically offered to any curious bird who fluttered by. She was an image straight out of a picture book and drew a few stares from passers-by. But she didn't care and Harry loved her for it.

What he didn't love was how unsurprised she appeared to be at his bit of "news". Harry sighed heavily and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his head upon his folded arms. "Right. Let me guess, you already knew I was gay? You knew it all along, just like everybody else apparently did. Am I really that much of a ponce? Like, do I have a lisp I was unaware of? Or do I walk…different?"

"Harry…." Luna's voice was soft but her tone was strained. She flung the rest of the bird feed into the air, not even batting an eyelash when some landed in her hair, and turned her body to face him with a serious look. "I know you're just starting to accept this part of your life, but there are some things you just can't say. Not all people on this community you're stepping into are the same. What you have in your head are stereotypes, and they simply aren't fair."

Harry flushed red up to the tips of his ears, feeling properly chastised. She was right, of course. She was always right, even if some of her theories seemed outlandish at the time. "I didn't mean…."

Luna's hand settled over his arm. "I know. Everyone has to learn these things; it's the only way to make ourselves better than who we were before." She squeezed gently and leaned down to try and catch his eye. "Those images you have in your head about what it means to be a gay man? They're why I hate to put labels to who I am." Harry's head shot back up, but she quelled his questions with a tut. "I just like people, Harry — it's as simple as that for me."

"So…," Harry started, brow furrowed. "Are you saying I shouldn't call myself 'gay'?"

For a long moment, Luna stayed silent, her head tilted back to watch the clouds roll by overhead. Harry could see her mouthing the words she wanted to say, testing their impact before voicing them aloud. When she finally seemed settled with them, she returned his gaze and smiled reassuringly. "Although I'm not one, for some people there is a sort of solace which comes with putting a name to their sexual identity. I would never dream of making that decision for you. You should explore this part of yourself however you feel most comfortable. I would only encourage you to keep an open mind while doing so."

Again, that flicker of anger radiated inside Harry's chest. He'd just finally come to terms with who he was. He finally put a tangible name to it. And now? Now he was supposed to keep questioning that? When would it stop? When would it ever be acceptable for him to just feel content with who or what he was?

A more rational part of his mind scolded Harry for overreacting. Luna was only trying to help in her own way. And, again, he reminded himself that she usually was correct despite the massive amounts of crazy that sometimes left her mouth. So, once more, he pushed down that frustration and forced himself to nod as if he even partially understood.

"I am very proud of you, though," Luna carefully reiterated. His turmoil must have been plainly visible on his face. Was he really as transparent as Hermione said? "If you feel the term 'gay' fits you, then use it. I just want you to know that you don't have to settle for something just because everyone else tells you it's correct. Does any of that make sense?"

Harry shrugged. His head was a jumble of too many questions and not enough answers. He wasn't sure what made sense anymore….

Fast as a shifting gust of wind, Luna jumped to her feet. Harry startled, but laughed it off easily, the lightness of it feeling welcome upon the panicking pulse of his heartbeat. "I think I know what would help!" she exclaimed, doing a quick twirl before extending a hand down towards Harry.

He accepted it without a second's thought and rose to his feet following her insistent tug. "And what might that be?" he chuckled, reaching forward to brush a bit of seed from her forehead.

Luna tilted into the touch and patted the back of his hand. "There's a lovely organization who've set up down the street from the Leaky. An equality centre for witches and wizards and other magical folk. I've gone to a few of their functions over the years and they have a group of people like you — queer-type people who are just coming out or coming to terms with themselves. They meet once a week for socializing and whatnot. They're called Sparks, isn't that just perfect?"

As he often had to with Luna's sudden streams of consciousness, Harry took a literal step back and attempted to process. His first thought was how blind he had been about his dear friend all these years. Here Luna was, admitting to deep involvement in this community, having involved herself with organizations and attending special functions. All along, there had been someone so similar to what he'd thought made him so different right by his side and yet he'd had no idea. Was he truly so oblivious that he just wouldn't notice?

But beyond all that, his friend spoke of a real and physical place for support. His heavy heart and muddled mind responded to the knowledge of this with relief. He felt lighter at the mere thought, making up his mind before he'd even had a proper think on it. "Sounds wonderful, Luna," he admitted on a sigh. He pulled her closer into his arms, going for a gentle embrace.

"It _is_ wonderful!" Luna bellowed, turning his hug into a happy little shimmy of a dance. "They meet Sundays — tomorrow — if you're up for it. I mean…I won't be able to go with you—"

"Isn't the point to branch out and make friends with others of similar experience, anyway?"

"—I'll be out of town on a research expedition. But, yes, you're absolutely correct." Luna paused for a single second to pull in a quick breath of air. "I should leave you to do this on your own. How are you supposed to properly find yourself whilst stifled by someone else's set expectations? Not that I have those for you, Harry dearest. All I want is for you to love whoever it is you are deep down in that mushy little heart of yours." Luna squealed, practically in Harry's ear, and twirled out of his arms back towards the water.

Leaving Harry breathlessly giddy at the idea of finding his people. People he could relate to. People he could share experiences with. People he could maybe even date….


	5. Brick Wall

Harry walked himself down to Charing Cross Road fully sure he was capable of handling the Sparks meeting alone. But the closer he came, the more dread started to weigh down his footsteps. He'd never considered himself to be a particularly brave person, even though he'd held the unofficial title as the Gryffindor Golden Boy. The way he saw it, that came down to reputation more than skill and was hardly something he had earned. Sure, he'd done some very bold things for the right side of the war. But he'd only been a child and, looking back at it all, he really hadn't been given much of a choice in most of his decisions. Recklessness and a sense of duty weren't exactly the same thing as unabashed courage.

And they weren't helping him now.

Despite slowing down to a Flobberworm's pace, Harry still managed to arrive at the address Luna gave him a good fifteen minutes before the six o'clock meeting time. The building, on the outside, was pretty standard for the area. It appeared as a small, simple shop with a collective of flats above. It had no windows or displays set about, just a plain stretch of brick wall with a single entrance, its façade setting it apart as an office suite instead of somewhere to shop around. Above the heavy wooden door hung a simple black and white sign reading "Magical Centre for Equality" and nothing more. He could feel a steady hum of magic coming off the building, recognizing the same probing charm surrounding the Hogwarts grounds which caused Muggles to feel as if the place before them wasn't worth their time.

It certainly wasn't what Harry was expecting. He had thought maybe the building front would be painted in extravagant rainbows or something equally garish. Which, of course, seemed silly to him now. The more colourful and inviting a building looked, the more difficult it was to hide under illusion charms. At least that's what Hermione had said in defence against Ron wanting to paint their house a nearly-neon shade of blue. That very well could have been a fib, but it sounded valid enough.

As Harry entered the building, a bell above the door tinkled to signal his entrance. He fell back against the door as it closed, bracing himself against its solidity. It wasn't until that moment that he truly understood how real this was. Someone would come running to see who entered and find him standing there like a fish out of water. It probably wouldn't be too long after that before gossip spread to the _Prophet._ Maybe it was easier that way with everyone finding out at once. At least it would save him the trouble of having all these little, awkward conversations with anyone else. He was already tired of hearing how many people supposedly knew.

Harry attempted to distract himself away from panic by taking quick stock of his surroundings while he still had a chance. The building's entrance opened up onto what appeared to be a recreational area filled with a smattering of comfy chairs, coffee tables, and a corner bookcase stuffed with books and games. Directly in front of him was a desk. Nearly every inch of its surface was covered in a different colourful sticker, some overlapping others in order to find placement. He stepped forward to examine them closer, finding the top of the desk littered with what appeared to be various pamphlets and posters. On the corner sat a fishbowl filled with shiny squares, a sign peeking out of them reading " _Keep the magic alive — wrap your wand!_ ". Harry's cheeks pinked at what it implied, but reached in to take a few. Just in case.

"Fuck me. Harry Potter!"

Harry jumped, jerking his hand back out of the bowl. Behind and to the left of the desk was a hallway, likely leading to the rest of the building. At his end of it now stood a woman, someone Harry knew to be familiar but couldn't quite place. His heart beat erratically in his chest as he took in her tall, wiry frame and the close shave of her head. He swore if she had long, dark curls...

"No, thanks," Harry chuckled through a tight grin, hoping it came across as a good-natured joke instead of unfiltered snark. He stepped away from the desk and over to her in three long strides, extending his hand with an easy smile like a well-trained celebrity. "Forgive me if we've already met. You do look familiar, but I can't quite place a name."

After only a single beat of pause, the woman returned his adopted calm expression and took his hand. "I was a year behind you at Hogwarts, so I'll forgive it. Astoria Greengrass," she supplied. "Well, Malfoy now," she added just as the pieces all clicked into place, angling their hands so as to show off the excessively extravagant diamond on her left ring finger.

Harry's eyes widened and he urged himself not to freeze. Or bolt for the door, which seemed like the most promising option. "Draco Malfoy's wife," he breathed, remembering the engagement announcement in the papers a couple years ago.

"Exactly! My husband and I own this place. Oh, he's going to be so surprised."

 _No more than I_ , Harry thought, his mind whirring with too much information and certainly not enough answers. "You own the building?" he tried.

Astoria tilted her head to the side and finally relinquished Harry's hand. It fell limp and heavy to his side. "We own it all. The building, the organization, every bit of it. We even live just above." She paused, frowning. "For now. Is that why you're here, then? I must admit, I can't imagine who could've told you about our situation, but I won't question the help."

"I'm so sorry," Harry said softly, "I'm afraid I'm not here to help with anything. I had only heard—" He stopped himself short a moment, knowing if he confessed what he was truly there for, it was as effective as stamping his sexuality on his forehead. How many more times did he have to come out before it started to feel less jarring? "A friend told me about your Sparks meetings. Thought I might attend one," he muttered, gaze falling down to the floor so he didn't have to see the understanding dawn in Astoria's eyes.

"Sparks meets on a different night now." A chill ran down Harry's back at the recognition of Draco Malfoy's particular drawl. Over the years, his voice had obviously changed, softening and taking on ease rather than a superiority. Still, there was no mistaking who had spoken, even if Harry still refused to look anywhere but at the man's approaching shoes. "That club Ins and Outs has started doing all-ages admittance on Sundays. A few of our Sparks members wanted to go, so starting this week we've moved the meetings to Wednesdays."

" _And_ it's his birthday," Astoria added.

Malfoy stopped beside his wife and Harry noted they were wearing matching pairs of loafers. "And it's my birthday. Thought that warranted a quieter evening."

As much as the idea appealed to him, Harry just couldn't continue staring at the floor all day. Again, he contemplated the idea of just leaving without another word, but that could only raise more suspicion. His best bet was to stick it out, so he lifted his gaze and dutifully extended his hand toward Malfoy. "Happy birthday, then," he managed to choke, almost losing the words halfway through because he simply hadn't prepared himself for _this_ version of Malfoy.

Harry hadn't seen Draco Malfoy, apart from a couple courteous exchanges in Diagon Alley, since the Death Eater trials where he'd vouched for the entire Malfoy family. But in those brief glances, he hadn't ever really _looked_ at him. Adulthood had been very kind to Malfoy. The sharp boy Harry remembered from their childhood was practically erased, his features having filled out and rounded over the years. Harry's first thought was that Malfoy looked healthier, both having more colour to his still-quite-pale skin and more thickness to his limbs. If Harry was ever forced to say so, he'd admit Malfoy had always been attractive. But this was something altogether different. With his blond hair now worn loose and long enough to grace his collar, with that short smattering of stubble along his cheeks and chin, with his lips no longer set into an off-putting sneer…. Well, he was downright desirable now, wasn't he?

"Thanks," Malfoy said and shook Harry's hand without missing a single beat, which really wasn't fair considering the way Harry's head spun.

"S'pose I'll come back on Wednesday, then," Harry rushed to say, shoving his hand deep in his pocket the instant it was released. "Leave you to your celebrations."

"Oh, no!" Astoria whined, sounding genuinely put out. "You're already here, how about Draco gives you a tour? I was just about to step out to grab us something to eat, anyway. I think it would be lovely for the two of you to catch up. Wouldn't it? Maybe you could even stay for dinner?"

Since the war, Harry would say the limited exchanges he'd had with Malfoy could be described as amicable. They were by no means friends, but he definitely wouldn't call this man his enemy any longer. Still, the thought of sitting down to have a meal with him — even if he was nice to look at — was a strange one.

Not to Malfoy, though, apparently. "Lovely idea, Tori."

"Perfect!" Astoria pushed up on her toes to quickly kiss Malfoy on the cheek before making for the door. "Be back in a shake!"

That bell tinkled again on her way out, almost ominously calling attention to her absence. With her gone, Harry found interest once more in the hardwood floor, his brain suddenly devoid of anything useful to say. He was nervous, but couldn't gauge in that moment if it was because he was left alone with Draco Malfoy, or because he was left alone with Draco Malfoy…who was incidentally hot.

"You know I'm not going to hex you, right?"

Harry's head flashed back up. Malfoy still stood in the same spot, watching him. Studying him? "I-I know," Harry stammered, forcing a laugh. "We're beyond all that schoolboy nonsense, yeah?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Come along, Harry. Just be prepared, it's not much of a tour."


	6. Dialogue #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dialogue: "You know, it's not often I get to talk to someone like you…I mean…someone like me."**

That casual use of Harry's first name couldn't have been an accident and, somehow, he found himself comforted by this. It felt like a signal that they were on common ground here. That they were free to start over with no judgments.

True to his word, Malfoy — _Draco_ — guided Harry down the hallway lined with encouraging posters and still photographs of protests and parades. He pointed out first the large event room, explaining its many different uses. They hosted speakers, held dances, celebrated weddings. "And every Saturday morning we have a family brunch." Adjoining this large space was the kitchen, which looked large enough to allow them to cook for a crowd. Just across the hallway from there was a small room with two sets of bunk-style beds. When Harry's brow furrowed at the sight, Draco solemnly stated, "Sometimes we have people who come to us with nowhere else to go," his words heavy and seemingly full of history.

"All that's left," he quickly recovered, guiding Harry to the single door at the end of the hallway, "is the office." He opened a door marked "PRIVATE", revealing a much tidier desk than the one out front, a conversational corner with a grouping of comfortable chairs, and a staircase against the far wall. "For the moment, Astoria and I occupy the space above," Draco said, gesturing to the stairs. "We have it charmed on the outside to blend in with the rest of the buildings, but there's really only one other floor."

Harry frowned at the curious wording and recalled Astoria's conversation earlier. "Your wife mentioned a situation; she assumed I was here to help," Harry took up a chair in the corner upon Draco's guidance. Draco sat across from him and pulled his leg up so his ankle rested across his knee. He made no effort to give an explanation, which was fair since Harry hadn't yet dared to ask a real question. "So, the two of you run this thing?" He steeled himself, knowing that if Draco was to divulge any personal information, it would be expected for Harry to do the same. But this was the biggest question niggling at Harry's brain. Something he just couldn't quite get a grasp on because none of the facts he had made any sense.

"That's not what you want to ask," Draco stated plainly, raising one manicured brow and folding his hands over his propped ankle. "This centre is my home and my passion; I have nothing to hide here. Don't hold back on my account."

For a moment, Harry merely blinked in surprise, but quickly regained his footing and nodded. "Why, then?"

"Why not?"

Harry laughed abruptly in response. _That_ was the Draco Malfoy he remembered. "That's not really an answer, M— Er, Draco…."

Nodding, Draco seemed to chew over his words for a moment. When he answered, his voice sounded slightly more strained than before. "Because it was necessary."

"That's still not—"

"Don't same-gender-loving people and transgender people and…and all those in between deserve a place to go where they feel welcome? Is it really so strange that I, apparently of all people, might want to provide them with such a place?"

"Of course they do," Harry muttered, taken aback at the sudden abruptness of Draco's answer. "And, no, I suppose not. But, Malfoy, I more—"

Once again, Draco interrupted, his foot falling back to the floor as he leaned in closer to Harry. "Call me anything, absolutely anything else at all, but Malfoy. _Please_ ," he insisted, sounding weary.

"Draco?" Harry waited for the other man's nod before continuing. "Draco, I didn't mean to suggest anything by it, I'm just…." What was he, exactly? Shocked to find Draco Malfoy (yes, of all people) in a place he thought he would feel alone? Confused why a seemingly straight man would be so wholly passionate about such a place? Afraid, disbelieving, relieved? "Look," he finally said, giving up on putting his mixed emotions into words, "can we just start over?"

Draco inhaled deeply before nodding again. "Welcome to the Equality Centre," he drawled, very likely mocking Harry. "How can I be of assistance to the so dearly revered, great and spectacular Harry Boy-and-Man-Who-Lived Potter?" Okay, not just likely — he _was_ mocking him.

"Maybe I'm gay and require your help?" Harry spat before he could curtail it, flushing white-hot with humiliation.

"Funny," Draco said, his face contorted in anger before he must have sensed Harry's seriousness and softened. "Wait…are you, really?"

"Yes?" Harry's response came out as more of a question, so he tried again. " _Yes_. I, er _…_ really was here to attend one of those Sparks meetings. Luna Lovegood said I should give it a try. Said…said I would benefit from talking things over with those in my same situation. Y'know, people coming out and…and stuff."

"And stuff," Draco scoffed, but overall kept a more relaxed demeanour. Harry had the creeping feeling of being surveyed, picked apart inch by inch. Like Draco might not believe him. Like Harry might have a reason to lie about something so difficult for him to even say.

The two of them sat in that uncomfortable silence for longer than Harry might have liked to. Between them, unsaid words crackled and died, drawing more and more attention to their tenuous acquaintanceship with every passing second. "Thank you for telling me," Draco finally said with a pressing softness. He didn't say he already knew or laugh or offer Harry an alternative way to say things. Draco just accepted it. Accepted _him_ and Harry had the disconcerting thought of never before feeling so at home in his skin as he was in that very moment.

Harry, not knowing how to respond, sat back in his chair and bobbed his head up and down like it was on a spring. A mechanical action, something to do while he processed all of that confliction and confusion within.

"When you asked why…." Harry looked up and met the watery grey of Draco's eyes. "I responded abruptly and out of fear, for this I apologize. Thankfully, the general public no longer see fallen pure-bloods as newsworthy, so we've been able to live our lives more peacefully than I expect you might." Draco sighed heavily, appearing weighed down by the words he had to say. "But there have still been those who have met this organization with hostility. Namely Astoria's and my parents, as well as those who still adhere to old values.

"You asked why Astoria and I started this organization? They're why. Their _hate_ is why. Our forced arranged marriage is why."

Harry watched as Draco's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Watched him hold back the emotion beginning to shake his voice. He shifted in his own seat, suddenly uncomfortable at the raw confessions pouring from Draco's lips. They might not be enemies any longer, but they certainly weren't friends, were they? Uncertain as to how to answer his own question, he found himself leaning forward in his seat, resting a steady hand upon Draco's knee in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

Although he startled at first, Draco eventually relaxed his posture and a laugh even bubbled up from his throat. "That's still not much of an answer, is it? Not the one you were hoping for. The short of it is, my marriage is a sham. Run to your friends with that if you'd like; I would love to see my family name gossiped over and disgraced publicly over this whole ridiculous ordeal."

"But the two of you seem…at least companionable," Harry said, trying to parse out just what Draco was insinuating.

"Oh, most definitely," Draco confirmed. "But neither of us possesses a body the other would like to make love to, so…." He trailed off with a smirk, once again gesturing towards the stairs. "Divorces are messy and expensive, and living with your best friend really isn't so bad. Except that night she brought home a screamer. That was the _definition_ of torture. But I found a way to get her back the next week, so everything's evened out."

Without having used any terms specifically, Draco had all but come out to Harry. And he did it so casually, speaking openly of an active sex life and living proudly even despite knowing he was disappointing his parents. Harry found himself envious of the courage Draco possessed, as well as humiliated at his own hesitation. He hadn't even been able to say the word "gay" without a blush.

He couldn't believe himself for thinking it, but Harry was actually feeling inspired by Draco Fucking Malfoy. Which, strangely, really was a much better outcome than how he had assumed this night would go. "You know, it's not often I get to talk to someone like you…I mean…someone like me." An involuntary smile flittered over his lips. "And I don't yet know how to be someone like me, so I have to admit it's a bit refreshing."

"Yeah, I guess you haven't altogether ruined my birthday, either," Draco chuckled and relaxed back into his chair. For a silent second, he looked over Harry again before adding, "For the record, though, Tori's bringing back Chinese takeaway and if you eat any of my wontons, I _will_ change my opinion on my decision not to hex you. Understood?"

Harry snorted and waved his hand through the air as if batting away nonsense. "I don't care if it is your birthday; I'll eat the shit out of a fried wonton and won't care what relationships I ruin over it."


	7. Healing

True to his word, Harry did eat a healthy helping of wontons — but only after Draco admitted he was stuffed and pushed them in his direction with a good-spirited smirk. Although he was close to bursting himself, Harry put them away like it was nothing to keep the joke alive.

Throughout the night, Harry found himself doing that a lot — cracking jokes or just acting silly in order to make Draco laugh. Every time he smiled, it felt like Harry was winning at some weird game. It felt like he was repaying the stillness Draco had granted him. Like something was healing, not just between them but also within each of them. Or at least within him.

When it finally came time for pudding, everyone agreed they'd already gorged themselves enough and opted instead to collapse into the hodgepodge of furniture in the Malfoy's sitting room. Harry nursed a celebratory glass of champagne, not one for the taste of it, while his companions drank straight from their second bottle. They made a giggly pair of drunks, that couple, and in their vulnerability Harry could easily spot the way Draco held Astoria with the softness of a sibling instead of a lover. It was sweet, really, the relationship they seemed to have crafted from the trauma Draco had referenced earlier in the evening.

As the alcohol eventually took a more secure hold, their mirth died down to a comfortable lull. Harry finished his glass and relaxed back in the recliner he occupied. To his right on the loveseat, Draco was using Astoria's calves as a pillow while he babbled about where they had obtained the various furniture items around the house — every flea market purchase sounded like a victory on his tongue. After a riveting tale about the worse-for-wear coffee table, his words eventually fizzled out as he rested his eyes. "But only just for a minute," Draco reassured them. "I'm just feelin' a bit…." He trailed off, his hand flapping through the air before slowly sinking down to drape over his belly.

Once Harry was sure Draco's breathing turned more shallow, he looked up at Astoria with a champagne-softened grin. "Did he fall asleep?" he whispered as she met his eyes.

Astoria nodded. "He doesn't sleep well most nights, so we'll let him keep dreaming, shall we?" She tenderly brushed Draco's platinum-blond hair from his face and wriggled to make herself more comfortable beneath him.

"Astoria?" Harry ventured, righting his chair from its reclined position as quietly as he could. She looked up with an interested hum. "You mentioned needing help earlier. Are you in trouble of some kind? Is it with either of your parents?"

Harry noticed Astoria's posture stiffen, but she remained otherwise composed, even despite the raw emotion dripping from her voice. "No, not directly," she explained. "After the wedding and our hilariously disastrous honeymoon — he won't admit it, but poor Draco hid in the toilet with fake stomach troubles for three nights in a row, just to avoid having to consummate the blasted thing — we decided to live our lives as we wanted, our parents be damned. We told them we wouldn't be producing an heir and they promptly cut us off. Only financially, of course, because they still expect us to attend dinners and holidays." She clenched her fists for a moment before setting them to comb through Draco's hair again.

"It was Draco's idea to start this organization, you know. While I was off dancing at clubs and testing out my sexuality, he poured every last Knut from his trust into this place. And I used mine to keep us afloat for this long…." As she trailed off, Astoria's gaze clouded over with unkempt emotion. Harry outstretched his hand in supportive offering, which she squeezed only once before letting go. "We had hoped to keep things going with donations, but no one with money to spare these days wants anything to do with us. It's absolutely backwards, but the magical community isn't overly warm to LGBT people yet. We're just as behind as the Muggles in that respect. Perhaps more so; _they_ can at least marry now in Britain."

"We can't get married?" Harry breathed, the alcohol suddenly not sitting right in his stomach, even as an excitement filled him at being able to openly include himself in their community.

"Oh, you really are just a little baby gay, aren't you?" Harry blushed. "It's okay, we've all been there," Astoria reassured him. "No, not yet. But if you're really desperate, you can marry through the Muggle legal system. The Ministry just won't recognize that union as valid when it comes to wills and such. For now. I have hope things will change soon. After all, our world is supposed to be healing itself now since we're rid of our plague of evil — thank you for that, by the way."

With a roll of his eyes, Harry attempted an awkward bow from his chair. "Someone had to do it, I s'pose."

Astoria met his sarcasm with a blank, serious expression. "Yeah, but not just anyone actually managed to make that shit happen, Harry. _You_ did. You killed Voldemort." Harry winced — it still felt wrong after these few years to be known for greatness gained by having murdered someone…even if that someone was hardly human by the end. "And you saved many lives, including Draco's. It's something you should be proud of."

"But if I hadn't saved him," Harry countered, his cynicism turning his words acidic, "you wouldn't have been forced to marry Draco."

The previously placid expression on Astoria's face shifted drastically dark. She sat up straighter, facing Harry as head on as possible. "I'm sure they would have found a different pure-blood golden son to marry off their disgraceful _dyke_ of a daughter to. Honestly, I'm just…so comforted to know Draco and I are in this together. I can't imagine a life with someone else who might have been in line with my parents' way of thinking. I can't imagine how miserable a life like that might be.

"This world could be much worse without you in it, Harry Potter. You, more than anyone, should be proud of who you are and what you've done."

Unable to articulate a real response, Harry merely blushed and muttered his thanks. He knew what Astoria said was true, of course, but something still felt off about how it sat with him.

"Harry? You'll continue to come around after tonight, right?" It was Harry's turn to pull himself from his distraction and meet Astoria's questioning gaze. "I mean…," she giggled, sounding nervous, "I hope you do. I think it would be good for you and for—" Astoria paused and looked down at Draco as he shifted against her legs. "And for Draco," she continued in an even softer whisper. "It's cathartic to be around people you relate to. I think the two of you could be that catharsis for one another. There's still a lot he hasn't processed from the war and from this whole ordeal with his family and—" With a frown, she abruptly fell silent, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Sorry, I'm rambling, it's the champagne. I drink too much and suddenly everyone gets this glazed look on their face. I'm just trying to say that I hope tonight wasn't this one-time thing you did because you felt obligated to. It wasn't, right?"

With the cloud of his conflicted emotions momentarily dissipated, Harry pulled himself from his chair and scooted across the floor to the sofa. Before he could comprehend doing it, his arms were wrapping tightly around Astoria in a genuine hug. "I'll definitely be coming back," he reassured her. "I still want to attend one of those Sparks meetings and…and maybe I can assist you guys in getting some donations." He pulled back and winked, causing Astoria to giggle. "You may not have heard, but I'm kind of a celebrity. People love to say they've done something special on my behalf."

She swatted at him playfully, accidentally dislodging her legs from beneath Draco's head in the process. Despite the way it _thunked_ into the cushions — and the shrill anticipatory gasps from Harry and Astoria both — he remained dead asleep. Harry watched a few quiet seconds just to be sure, and when he found himself satisfied Draco wouldn't wake, he gently rose from the carpet and looked towards the door. "Well, I s'pose…we should take his hint and head off to bed ourselves, yeah?"

Astoria nodded, rising as well and walking him down the stairs to the front door. "I meant what I said, Harry Potter — don't be a stranger."

Without a second thought, he promised he'd see her soon before walking off down, feeling more whole and happy than he could remember being in far too long.


	8. Rose-Tinted Glasses

Harry would never in a million years think to describe his life as having been easy. He would be the first to recognize that things had been exceptionally difficult for him practically from birth. He'd experienced more loss in his first eighteen years than an average person might in their lifetime. His life had been intentionally put in harm's way for the gain of those who were mean to protect him. He'd been hunted down and tortured and lied to more times than he could even recall. By Godric, he had even _died_!

But the longer Harry sat through his first Sparks meeting at the Equality Centre, the more apparent it was becoming that he'd come into it unintentionally wearing rose-tinted glasses. He'd expected to find his people and relate to them, but all he felt was extremely privileged for the things he'd always taken advantage of. Sure, his childhood (or lack thereof) was something he could never wish on another person – not an innocent one, at least. But when he compared all of that to what the other attendees had been through with their families and friends, and the things they had done to survive…. His trauma didn't even come close. Not when he could, at the end of the day, laugh most of it off and feel content he had won.

As Harry sat in that circle in his hard-plastic chair, he knew he didn't belong there. It had become apparent to him that these meetings must be for people who truly have no other place to turn with their feelings surrounding having come out. He didn't fit that bill and his presence really only seemed to cause a stir more than help others feel comfortable. Some of those in attendance treated him like a celebrity, introducing themselves in earnest and thanking him for what he had done to reinstate safety to their world. Others regarded him with more caution. He had heard them questioning his presence in tight groups before the meeting started, side-eyeing him from across the room. One woman went so far as to huff and stalk out of the building upon seeing him, like his mere existence was an affront to her.

Some of the attendees calmed when Draco asked him to open the meeting by introducing himself. He'd explained how he was in the process of telling people he was gay. That he was only "out" to a handful of his friends and one of them had encouraged him to seek out the centre. Someone cheekily asked him if he was single, which set the group to giggles when he blushed tomato red and begrudgingly nodded. However, his sharing ended there and they moved on to the next person with something to say.

The focus hopped around the circle to whomever wanted to speak next. And with each person, the crease between Harry's brows grew deeper. Their stories were more tragic than he could have ever imagined.

A transgender woman who only recently began wearing dresses to work at the Ministry had been received several alarming threats through their interdepartmental memo system. She was terrified to go anywhere alone within the building.

A young Muggleborn girl who could be no older than sixteen had been abandoned by all her friends at Hogwarts after she attempted to kiss one of them in a moment of celebration. She barely managed to get the words out through her whole-body sobs.

Three men of different ages had been cut completely out of their families' lives after coming out. One had barely lived through a suicide attempt, one painfully admitted he needed to stay at the centre another night because he had nowhere else to go, and one has been barred from seeing his daughter who he described as a literal piece of his heart.

And then, of course, there was Draco. Draco, who had always tried to be that perfect pure-blood son — the proof of which was permanently etched into his forearm. Draco, who appeared to be the solid rock for all of these people, regardless of who they were or what they had done. Draco, who accepted their burden as if it were his own, giving them meals and a place to stay and who promised to write scathing letters on their behalf even while his own problems sat unsolved.

Draco Malfoy, the literal saint of wayward souls.

The Sparks meeting was the first time he had seen Draco since leaving him sleeping on the sofa the night of his birthday. But it wasn't the first time he had found himself in deep thought about the man. In fact, he couldn't remember a moment over the past three days where he _hadn't_ thought about him. He was in Harry's dreams and in everything he saw or did during a day. He'd even managed to mess up a simple protection charm while teaching a class because the silvery effect of the casting had reminded him of Draco's emotion-slick irises. He hadn't thought about the man this much since he was sixteen and that made everything just shift right into fucking perspective.

He was sure he was the only person alive who could have had a crush on someone and not be able to see it until years later.

When the meeting finally ended, Harry had all but made up his mind on never attending another one. His confusion didn't belong in a place so full of valid tragedy. And it really wasn't fair to any of the other attendees for him to sit there admiring how stubble accentuated Draco's jawline instead of actively listening to them or offering validation.

As everyone dispersed to mingle or graze over the snack table once more, Harry made a straight beeline for Draco and pulled him aside by the elbow. Once they were off to a more secluded corner of the events room, Draco gingerly loosened Harry's accidentally tight grip and raised a brow. "No need to manhandle me, Potter," he chided, his tone light despite his accusation. "What did you think about Sparks?"

Harry looked around to ensure no one was close enough to hear and dropped his tone just to be certain. "I certainly wasn't prepared for it…." He sighed softly and met Draco's imploring gaze. "I just didn't expect some of those stories. I don't think I belong among this group, not as a participant. But I want to help," he quickly added as he noticed Draco's shoulders stiffening. "What I'm saying is, I want to help instead of trying to pretend I'm as worse off as some of the others who really seem to need these meetings. I have money—"

Draco scoffed and took a step away from him. "Salazar help me, if you're just using my organization as a charity case to further your image, Potter, I…." As quick as the anger came, it seemed to melt away as he raked his fingers through his hair. "That's not what you're doing, right?"

"Right," Harry affirmed, smiling gently to try and show Draco he meant it.

"Are you still going to come around after you've thrown money at us?"

Harry's throat clenched, floored for a moment by the earnest tone to Draco's words. "I mean…you guys do a weekly brunch, so what choice do I have but to stick around?"

A dazzling flicker of what Harry hoped was relief lit up Draco's face as he rolled his eyes. "Good, then I'll count on you Saturday morning for set-up." When Harry guffawed, he merely shrugged. "You said you wanted to help. We need aide in more areas than just monetary around here and I intend to take full advantage of your offer."

 _You can take full advantage of anything you want_ , Harry fleetingly thought before he blushed and forced it away, following Draco to the chairs to begin tearing down the room.


	9. Harvey Milk Quote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"Hope will never be silent." - Harvey Milk**

When Harry had offered to help the centre, he hadn't meant like this….

Now, he wouldn't necessarily say his anxiety stemmed from was shame. That wasn't the right word, and for the moment he seemed to be past that confliction. But he was scared. He was nervous. It felt like he had swallowed a bowl full of creepy crawlies.

It was too much too soon, but Draco had insisted this was the best way to help. And Harry had offered to practically do anything requested of him.

But, at the time, "anything" hadn't included sitting down with a reporter. And it most _definitely_ hadn't included Rita Fucking Skeeter.

Honestly, it was just his luck that the _Prophet_ had enlisted her services when he'd written asking for an exclusive interview. Anything involving Harry Potter was destined to be a big story. It was destined to sell papers. And the one person who sold the most papers on their entire staff was Rita Fucking Skeeter. Mostly because she was the one person who knew how to lie in a way people found disturbingly compelling.

"This isn't going to help anything," Harry hiss-whispered to Draco. For privacy's sake, they had decided to conduct the interview up in the Malfoys' residential space above. Seated in the same recliner he'd occupied almost a week before, Harry found a semblance of comfort in the familiar surroundings. Draco had set out a tray of tea — kept under stasis at the perfect drinkable temperature — and mini lemon tarts on the coffee table. The windows were open, allowing the gentle summer breeze to fill the sitting room. Draco had crafted a perfectly comfortable setting and promised to stay throughout the entire interview. Even still, Harry was in danger of sweating through his t-shirt both from nerves and agitation. "I can't do this."

Any minute now, Astoria would be finished giving Rita the tour downstairs. Any minute she would come up and sit on that sofa right across from him and find a way to spin his brave admission into something sinful.

Draco finished rearranging the tarts for the third time and stood up, moving to crouch in front of Harry's recliner. His hands were so gentle and so steady as he took Harry's own, momentarily easing the tremors. "She's already here," he pressed. "She's already aware of what type of organization this is. If you don't do the interview now…she'll use her assumptions to make things worse."

He was right, of course. The point of doing this article wasn't to put the focus on Harry specifically. Not that he'd even want such attention, anyway. And if he let her walk out that door without telling her exactly what he wanted from this exchange, she was bound to find a way to retaliate. A way which might hurt the centre more than help it.

"Mr Potter, it has been too long!"

Rita announced her entrance with a call to a fondness they simply did not have for one another. Harry's fingers itched towards his wand as she walked up the stairs, arms outstretched. He rightfully snuffed her with a nod and a stiff smile, refusing to stand from his chair. He supposed he should have greeted her with at least forced kindness, but found he just couldn't muster the strength. Not without unloading his entire breakfast over her ghastly neon yellow robes.

"He's nervous," Draco supplied gently, having stood to meet her on the landing. He shook her hand dutifully, hardly giving her floating Quick-Quotes Quill and sheet of parchment a sideways glance, before guiding Rita to sit beside him on the sofa. "I gather your relationship in the past has been less than peaceable?"

Gratingly, Rita laughed off the suggestion and peeked at what the quill was furiously scratching away. Just the sound of it was enough to nearly push Harry completely over the edge. "Oh, we're over the past now, aren't we?" she squeaked with a wink.

In that moment, Harry found the thought of tipping the kettle over her head inviting, but restrained himself with a reminder that this wasn't about him. This was about so much more than him or any old feud. "Right," he pushed through his teeth. He even managed a soft smile, but was sure it came out more like a grimace. "All I want to focus on is the future."

Rita nodded, looking a bit taken aback at his restraint. "Perfect. Should we get started, then?"

Despite nodding, Harry leaned forward and grabbed a tart. He shoved it in his mouth whole, using it as an excuse to give himself a moment more to compose himself. Which was a terrible mistake once it hit his roiling stomach. As it began to churn more viciously, he forced himself to chewed slower.

Luckily, Draco was steadier on his feet. In the silence, he offered Rita some of the tea and begrudgingly fixed it to her exact, fussy instructions. Only once she'd taken a sip did he relax back into the arm of the sofa with a rather pleased expression on his face.

With everyone now sated and Harry's mouth empty, Rita returned right to business. "Now, Harry, after going through that tour downstairs with our host's lovely wife, Asteria—"

" _Astoria_ ," Draco corrected.

"—I'll admit I think I know why you've asked for an interview," she continued as if he hadn't said a word. Harry felt his cheeks flush with blood and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Before we get into that," Draco interrupted Rita again, "I think we have a few ground rules to lay."

When Draco had offered to sit in with the reporter, even before they knew it was to be Rita Skeeter, Harry had thought he was merely being kind. The more he got to know this new version of the man, the less Draco's softened heart surprised him. He hadn't thought twice on ulterior motives until just this moment as he frowned up at him.

"Ground rules?" Rita giggled. She took a moment of pause to sip her tea again. "Why would that be necessary?"

A sickly grin took over Draco's features, showing Harry a glimpse of that boy he once knew. "Because you're a lying snake, Rita Skeeter." When Rita opened her mouth to likely object, Draco continued in an even louder tone. "Don't play innocent with me — I've heard the stories of your Slytherin schooldays from my Aunt Bellatrix. You two were quite close as far as roommates go, weren't you?"

Rita roved from slightly startled straight to indignant. She slammed her teacup down on its saucer on the coffee table, whirling around on Draco with a waggling finger at the ready. "How dare you—"

Draco merely chuckled and propped his feet up on the table. "Did you know, if you get my aunt sloshed enough, her tongue really does loosen up quite a bit?" He paused with a smirk, seemingly relishing the pregnant moment. "Oh, what am I saying, of course you know. After all, it's what you admired about her the most, wasn't it? That slow…languid… _tongue_."

Before he could process how to hold it back, a sharp noise of amusement blasted out from Harry's own throat. His eyes flicked back and forth between both of them like he was watching a tennis match. Waiting to see who broke first — calm, cool, collected Draco or Rita whose paled complexion now rivalled that of any alabaster Malfoy.

In the end, Draco broke first, thawing from his icy stare with a roll of his neck. "Now, how about we set those rules?" Rita barely nodded, but he must have been satisfied enough with it to continue. "We want you to write your article with the focus of hope. At the centre of that, as a beacon of inspiring light, will be Harry and the bold profession he wishes to make. You will write everything he says in its exact truth. You will not embellish a single detail or make up any of your tawdry little lies. To round out your piece, you will write about our budding equality centre, painting it as the haven for acceptance that it truly is. You will urge people to donate to keep the centre alive and the people who use it protected. Your article will be about a push for equality and reform.

"Should you choose to break any of the rules set forth, bear in mind that my aunt kept meticulous diaries throughout her school years. Have I made myself clear?"

 _Chills_. Harry had fucking chills. He knew he should have been repulsed by the idea of Draco blackmailing someone. He should have been sceptical about what that meant for any future friendship between the two of them. He should have torn up out of his chair and left, refusing to be a part of his scheme.

But all he really felt was in complete and total awe. And…perhaps, a bit turned on….

There was no confliction to how Rita felt. She was terrified, he could see it in her eyes and in the way she nodded much too quickly. Without a word, she snatched her acid-green quill and the strip of parchment out of the air and stuffed them into her leopard print bag. She chose in their stead a simple biro and notebook which she slapped down on her knee, turning her attention to Harry with a shaken smile. "Let's hear it then," she said bruskly, but he could hear the tremor to her voice.

As Harry relaxed back in his chair, much surer of what he was about to do, he caught Draco's eye for just once second. Just long enough to catch his wink and triumphant smile.


	10. Blossom

"So," Harry broached the instant Rita Skeeter resolutely slammed the door to the centre, her heels clicking angrily away down the sidewalk, rounding on Draco with crossed arms, "guess there's a little Slytherin still left in you after all, huh?"

Just as composed as ever, Draco shrugged and waved to a few of the youths playing a round of Exploding Snap in the recreational area as he passed them on his way back to the office. "Just doing my duty — you know, saving the damsel in distress."

Harry balked at the implication but continued to follow him. "Excuse me?"

As lascivious as it was, that winning grin Draco shot over his shoulder really was a stunning sight to behold. "Well, you obviously walked into it without a plan, so I had to improvise. It's my organization directly tied to that article — I couldn't allow you or that dreadful woman to sully the only thing that still matters to me."

"Draco," Harry said pointedly once they were behind the closed office door. He waited to continue until Draco was looking at him, needing him to see the conviction in his words. "You could have come up with something other than blackmail."

"I dabbled with the idea of poison, but without the antidote it seemed ridiculous."

It took Harry a good, long minute to decipher if Draco's deadpan delivery was intended to be sarcasm or not. When he finally decided it had to be — because Draco wasn't his parents, right? — he sighed and slumped into one of the comfortable chairs in the corner. "But…you wouldn't really tell anyone about _…that_ , would you?"

"She's not like us," Draco mumbled, confirming why the thought of it made Harry so squeamish. He skipped the idea of a chair altogether and fell into a heap on the floor, leaning against the side of Harry's with the soft strands of his hair falling over Harry's arm. "I would never force someone to come out like that. I wouldn't even threaten it. But what that woman did as a teenager…. We all know my aunt was deeply disturbed, but even she didn't deserve the way Skeeter broke her heart back then. She should be ashamed of it, at the very least for the way things ended."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had, indeed, always viewed Bellatrix Lestrange as all evil and no heart. But he supposed she had been a child once. She had been vulnerable. And the thought of that was just enough to set him on edge. "Were you close to her?" he asked softly, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"I didn't really know her. She was in Azkaban until I was fifteen and after that…I only really spent time with her in glimpses. But she did like to drink and she did like to talk, so at least I came away with some attack fodder."

"Does it comfort you to know you weren't the only one in your family?"

Draco paused before answering, his heavy swallow extremely audible with the stillness of the room. "No. I don't know if either of my parents were aware of her… _leanings_ , but if they were it would only discredit my own sexuality. Or the validity of it. I don't want anyone to see me as anything like her. I don't want to feel like I'm less than human for it."

It really was a strange twist of fate that Harry would be sitting here so casually with Draco Malfoy of all people, having the type of conversation which clenched his throat with emotion. In the last few weeks, he'd spend more time here at the centre than with his own friends. Not that he wasn't starting to view Draco and Astoria both as friends these days. They ate dinner together and played games and had talks like this — it would have been naïve to ignore the way their relationship had blossomed since his first visit here.

But it still felt extremely off-kilter to know things were once so different between him and Draco. That he once would have been revolted at even the thought of consoling his once rival. But there they sat, and that was their reality.

And Harry knew it was more than just a friendship blossoming between them because he couldn't keep his eyes trained on the blank white of the ceiling when he was aware of Draco sitting and looking so picturesque beside him.

Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes so he didn't have to choose between either view. Slowly, because he hadn't made his mind up whether he truly felt comfortable touching Draco, he brought his hand up and ran his fingers through Draco's silky blond hair. It felt as gentle as water between them and a shiver ran down his back.

"Your methods were less than ideal, but thank you anyway for your help earlier," he whispered. Anything louder would have broken the moment. "The article will be great because of you."

He felt Draco nod and turn, just barely, to look at him. He must have been satisfied enough in what he saw because he settled back into the exact same spot, even pressing his head back a bit against Harry's fingers. "Don't get used to it. I'll gladly leave the saviour role to you from now on."

Before he could consider the consequences of such an action, Harry finally opened his eyes and leaned over the armrest. He pressed his lips into the crest Draco's scalp — a ghost of a kiss, really — and pretended he wasn't craving a deeper moment of intimacy between them.


	11. Dialogue #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dialogue: "I want…. No, I need to move on. I need a fresh start."**

Ron and Hermione's home was dark and quiet when he stepped through their Floo, the scent of freshly-baked bread or simmering sauces glaringly absent. There wasn't even a light on in the kitchen. He mentally calculated out his week, calling out a hello once he was sure he hadn't gotten the day wrong.

It took a moment, but Hermione eventually came running from the direction of their bedroom wearing nothing but a too-big t-shirt and a towel around her head. "Harry!" she exclaimed, her hand over her heart as the terror faded from her features. " _Merlin_ , I thought you were a burglar!"

"Do burglars usually announce they've arrived?" he chuckled awkwardly, looking again towards the empty kitchen. "It is Wednesday, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Hermione breathed, "but you've cancelled on us two weeks in a row. We didn't think you'd show tonight." She tugged at the front hem of the shirt, biting her lip. "Look, Harry, I was just getting out of the bath and I didn't even have a chance to throw on any knickers. Can you give me just a minute?"

Harry, his eyes going round, nodded quickly and gestured for her to _please_ go ahead and finish dressing. She shuffled off awkwardly with a gracious smile, promising again that she'd only take a minute. In her absence, Harry fell onto the edge of the sofa and puzzled over what she'd said. Sure, he'd missed a couple of their weekly dinners, first because of the Sparks meeting and the second for a rescheduled class at St Mungo's. Which he'd had to do because of another Equality Centre related event…. And, yes, they were the first dinners he'd cancelled on since they'd begun them a few years ago. But it still didn't make sense for his friends to assume he was done with them altogether. These nights still meant something special to him, even if he had been too busy for them recently.

"Right, all squared away!" Hermione exclaimed, running back into the room wearing a better-fitting shirt and joggers. She fluffed her still-wet hair with her hands as she settled into the sofa beside Harry, appearing to force a smile. "Ron took the later shift at the shop — figured he'd give George a night of reprieve — so it'll just be the two of us if you'd like to stay. We could order something to eat, or I could probably manage to whip up some sandwiches?"

As he watched her dripping all over her sitting room just to make him more comfortable, Harry couldn't help but to feel like a glaring inconvenience. He frowned and made to stand. "I should have checked in before coming over."

Hermione followed him eagerly to his feet and placed a gentle hand on his elbow. "It's honestly fine, Harry. Please stay."

For a fleeting moment, Harry considered leaving anyway. Of going to see Draco, even though he'd been avoiding him the last few days, only showing up at the centre when he knew the man would be preoccupied. Although Draco hadn't called any attention to it and it passed by with no consequence, that intimate moment in the office after his interview with Rita Skeeter hung heavy on Harry's heart, clouding his head with what-ifs.

What if he told Draco how he was starting to see their friendship?

What if he _was_ in love with Draco?

What if he had kissed Draco instead of chickening out?

With all of this on his mind, he had been comforted by the idea of seeing Ron and Hermione tonight. Of having a moment in his life that wasn't different and wasn't confusing. He'd received a copy of his article for the _Prophet_ which was set to run the next morning, and it felt grounding to want to share it with someone other than the Malfoys. Just like old times….

So, he stayed. He helped Hermione make crisp sarnies — their go-to food when alone because Ron couldn't stand the idea of salty crisps polluting a perfectly good peanut butter sandwich and always gave them guff for it. They took their plates back to the sitting room, sitting cross-legged across from one another on the carpet and something about that moment just felt so nostalgic and perfect. He almost didn't bring up the article. He didn't want anything to change.

But he also didn't want her to inevitably see it and wonder why he hadn't told her first.

"Hey," he finally started once they'd both licked their fingers clean, his heart racing because he knew there was no going back, "so, I sat down with Rita Skeeter the other day…."

The look on Hermione's face — one would have thought Harry had just told her he grew a third leg. Her eyes bugged out and she appeared at a loss for words, her mouth flapping open and closed before she resolutely locked her jaw and sighed heavily through her nose.

Harry didn't give her a chance to speak her mind, cutting her off with a light-hearted laugh. "It was Draco's idea, but honestly—"

" _Draco_?" Harry frowned as she interrupted him. Harry was in the middle of pulling the proof copy of his article from his pocket, but froze at her incredulous tone. He looked up at her and she almost seemed…angry? "I know, you mentioned spending time with Malfoy at that equality place, but are you really calling him 'Draco' now?" Hermione continued as she held her hand out for the slip of parchment.

"That is his name, Hermione," Harry chuckled, even while a weird sense of shame slid over him. After one last hesitant moment, he handed over the article.

For a quiet moment, she merely scanned the newspaper while nodding. Harry's heart was in his throat as he watched her eyes move back and forth over the words, the crease between her eyebrows growing deeper and deeper with every line. By the time she finished, her face was more wrinkle than not and she heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, Harry. This can't really be how you want to tell the world about such a personal thing."

After waiting on bated breath for the past few days, he thought he could say he was relieved with how the article turned out. True to her word, Rita had kept everything honest and included his quotes word for word. She had painted the centre in such a beautiful light and even managed to make Draco and Astoria seem almost like saints for their involvement in such a worthy cause without outing either of them, as well. He was proud to have the world see him through her freshly (or forcefully) opened eyes. Or so he had thought. "I want…. No, I _need_ to move on. I need a fresh start. Coming out to the world like this, all at once, it's exactly what I want to do. I'm tired of having to do this one person at a time. It's exhausting. I'm fucking _exhausted_ , Hermione."

Hermione almost looked like she understood as she nodded again, re-skimming the article with a slightly more relaxed expression. But he could still see the hesitancy in her taught shoulders. "You're sure this is what you want and not what _Malfoy_ wants, right?"

"Can't he and I want the same thing?"

"Of course," she breathed and finally set the paper down between them. "It's just, a few weeks ago you were hardly ready to even tell Ron and me. I just need to be sure you're not being used for someone else's gain here. Maybe Malfoy's in a better place now, but he doesn't have a very innocent track record…."

It was Harry's turn to frown. He looked down at his hands, trying to remember just how the whole idea even came about. He had been the one to write the letter to the _Prophet_ because they had both decided it reached the widest audience. But it had, indeed, been Draco who suggested he do it in the first place. He'd said Harry's celebrity status would help the centre best. Harry had been eager to impress Draco, but he hadn't needed that much convincing. He was _sure_ he agreed that this was a great solution, killing two birds with one stone. "He didn't con me into anything, if that's what you're suggesting," Harry finally muttered, unable to meet her gaze. "Draco's been very helpful through this whole process, Hermione. Can you just trust me when I say I trust him?"

"I'll try," Hermione said gently, but with an air of apprehension to her words. "I just hope you're ready for what this article will change about your life."

Harry nodded, but that deepening sinking feeling in his stomach contradicted his certitude.


	12. Sunlight

The day Harry woke up with sunlight glaring in his eyes — once again without having shut the curtains the night before, because he just couldn't seem to manage such a menial task — felt like the end of something special. The rainbow sheen across his room was gone and he knew it was now the first of July, his heart sinking upon realisation. The warmth he felt from his month of pride faded away and Harry was left…deflated.

Especially once he realized how much of it he had wasted these last few days, trapping himself inside of his flat.

It was safe to say dinner with Hermione had shaken Harry a bit. He'd been so confident walking in, but when he left…. Well, he just didn't feel like the same person. Her foreboding statement lingered heavy in his head, clouding and drowning out literally anything else.

" _I just hope you're ready for what this article will change about your life."_

Obviously, he had known things were going to change. People were going to be looking at him differently, which was sort of the point. He had figured they paid him extra attention already, but he hadn't really thought about what this type of attention would feel like. But once he did, he just couldn't focus on anything else.

It was safe to say he was spinning out. He hadn't left his flat since returning home that night. He hadn't showered and hadn't shaved. He ordered takeaway and ate half of it, leaving the rest to spoil on his kitchen counter. He drank until his head spun. He slept away the daylight and paced in the moonlight. He was, undeniably, a mess.

All of his nerves could be satisfied, of course, by merely leaving his flat. It was a laughingly simple concept, but he just couldn't manage it. Every single time he thought about walking out that door, he'd freeze up, stuck with his hand on the knob for aching minutes — trembling and trying to talk sense into himself.

He was imagining the worst of people. _All_ people. He postponed teaching all of his classes at St Mungo's, unable to bear the thought of no one wanting to take them any longer. He ignored a growing mound of letters on his windowsill, sure all of the friends and family he hadn't yet come out to were only writing to convey their disappointment.

That unfiltered sunlight should have been a wake-up call, but it only served to make matters worse. His anxiety only heightened without the protection of that month specifically dedicated to being proud of who he was. If he'd felt exposed before, that feeling was only ten times worse now.

But if he never left home again, he could continue to live in ignorant bliss. He wouldn't have to know how many people had written him off. He wouldn't have to see the Equality Centre targeted with an increase of hate. He wouldn't have to know he had let Draco and Astoria down if their plan backfired. If he just stayed shut away forever, everything could continue to be as it was because nothing would change.

Or so he rationalised as he pushed up out of bed and furiously drew the curtains closed, effectively blocking the world out for just a bit longer.

The symbolism of that action wasn't lost on him. He was right back to where he had been a month ago — so ashamed and worrisome. Shutting everyone out because he was afraid. Hiding a part of himself away from the world because he couldn't handle the rejection. He hadn't changed one bit, not really. For a time, he had been able to handle it all because he had been able to control it. But, when it was once again out of his hands, he reverted back into the same shell of a person he had been before.


	13. Yellow-Bellied

Harry had effectively shuttered himself away in his little panic room of a flat for fifteen days. He'd been marking them off with careful X's on the back of an old building bulletin, growing more and more hollow with each pen-stroke. Rationally, he knew there was no way he could keep this up forever. Already, he was growing lonesome. Even if he was terrified to face people following his too-public coming out, he missed human interaction. The television wasn't exactly a proper replacement for real people. And he really could only wank so many times in one day to a fictionalized version of someone.

Well…of Draco, really.

Even in isolation, left with nothing but his own thoughts, Harry didn't think of anything but Draco Malfoy. At least, not when he wasn't an anxious mess over what might be happening outside of those four walls. But most of the time he was able to calm himself down from that ledge by closing his eyes and remembering that moment between them on the day of the interview. Draco's feather-soft hair tickling his lips. The overwhelming scent of sandalwood and bergamot. His body filled with so much heat he thought he might burst. He could build a lifetime of fantasies out of those three seconds alone.

Or, at least enough to last him fifteen days and counting without the real thing.

Harry's head just hit the pillow, ready to put one of those fantasies to the test, when he was viciously jarred from the beginning haze. He was already half-hard, solidifying this as the _worst_ time for someone to come knocking. For a moment, he merely stared at his bedroom door and weighed his options — throw on a pair of shorts and answer it or hope whoever it was went away. But then they knocked again and he figured he had no choice. If it was his landlord, he couldn't very well ignore her. There was also a good chance he had ordered Thai again and blurred out the memory of it with never-ending monotony.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there!" he shouted and flung his feet back to the floor. "Keep your pants on," he muttered while pulling his own back up and donning the shorts. He'd just torn open his bedroom door and made it three steps towards the entrance to his flat when whoever it was knocked a third time, rapidly and in loud succession like they were trying to bust it down. "I'm literally right here! Godric's sake, calm the fuck down!" Thrown by his own frustration, he neglected to look through the peephole and literally squealed when he finally pulled the door open.

There Draco Malfoy stood in all of his real and physical glory, mocking Harry's beginner of a boner with that annoyed little look of his. It took every ounce of restraint in Harry's body not to groan and slam the door shut on his gorgeous fucking face.

"Oh, so you are alive," Draco drawled, his arms crossed and his brow raised accusingly. His gaze wandered over Harry, making him feel self-conscious. There was no way two weeks of neglect had left him looking in any way presentable.

"Funny," Harry sighed, tugging at his beard to test the length. It had never been so long. He probably looked like a madman…. "How do you know where I live?"

"Everyone knows where you live, Harry, it's not a secret." Draco, without bothering to ask, pushed past Harry into his flat and closed the door resolutely behind them. For a too-long second, he continued to stare before reaching out to tug on the beard himself with a restrained smile. "Guess I was right to be worried, wasn't I?"

Harry turned abruptly away, needing a sense of privacy in order to process Draco's words. He'd been worried about him which meant he'd noticed Harry's absence. Which, considering how often he'd been down at the centre lately, wasn't such a strange thing, he supposed. "There's nothing to worry about," he feigned, moving to clear up the discarded food containers littering his kitchen. This was the first time Draco had been in his home and it was a mess. It probably stunk, too. I _probably stink_ , he thought, sniffing he hoped surreptitiously at his armpit. (For the record, he did smell a little ripe.)

He heard Draco moving behind him, growing more and more embarrassed by every step. "Well, I was. Suppose I thought you would continue to come around after Skeeter's article was published, but we hadn't seen you in a while…." Harry looked over his shoulder when Draco paused, catching him frowning at a pile of discarded beer bottles littering his armchair. "My first thought was that you used us and moved on, so I figured I would check into my theory. I'm not sure whether to be relieved that it appears I was wrong, or disappointed in your cowardice."

"First of all," Harry spat, spinning on his heel, "how dare you!" For the first time in weeks, he felt angry and the change of pace almost came as a relief. He'd spent so much time with shame and anxiety weighing him down that it was kind of refreshing to buzz with something so white hot.

"Is there a 'second of all'?" Draco chuckled, merely bemused at Harry's clenched fists and beet-red face.

Harry leaned back against the counter, opening his mouth but finding he didn't have another point to make. He indignantly failed his arms, hoping Draco would make it for him since he already knew so much about what Harry was feeling, anyway. When the silence only continued to stretch on, he instead crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed a "No".

The loud clattering of glass hitting the floor preceded Draco's retaliation as he cleared a spot for himself on the armchair. He settled into it, just perched on the edge, and levelled Harry with a look dripping in thinning patience. "Honestly, Harry, I was expecting more than just those few letters to the editor. It's not worth this much moping."

"How many were there?" Harry breathed, his fears returning full-fledged.

The tension in the room grew thick as silence stretched between them. Draco's only initial reaction was a narrowing of his eyes, his expression otherwise calculated. "Well, if you haven't seen them that's obviously not it. Did something else happen?" he eventually asked, tone even. Stone serious.

"How would I know? I haven't left this flat since the article dropped." Harry was grinning, hollow and flat.

"Excuse me?"

Harry bunched his shoulders all the way up to his ears and let them drop heavily. "I didn't want to know how everyone was going to react, so I just…avoided it entirely."

Draco heaved a long-suffering sigh and pushed up off the chair, making a straight and purposeful path to Harry. He stopped in front of him, hardly leaving even the idea of space between them and for a moment Harry thought maybe he'd never left his bed. This could have been one of those fantasies, especially once — almost in slow motion — Draco's hands settled at the hem of Harry's shirt, lifting the fabric in too drastic of a rush compared to the delicate stillness beforehand.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, sounding like he might very well faint any moment. Especially since all of the blood in his body seemed to have rushed right back towards his prick. There was no way Draco wasn't going to notice how affected he was with his tenting shorts and gaping mouth.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought for sure your belly would be yellow."

Harry's jaw snapped closed, the mood promptly killed. "Fuck you," he hissed and ripped his shirt from Draco's hands, smoothing it back down over his stomach.

With a winning smirk affixed to his lips, Draco took a step back and allowed Harry's head space to clear. "Look, you're either the world's biggest drama queen or the least brave Gryffindor I've ever met. And since I hold that first title, I'm chocking this all up to a laughable level of spinelessness."

"Ha! It is _definitely_ time for you to leave now. And here I thought you were my friend. Same old Malfoy, right? Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Was it _spineless_ of me to think you'd changed?"

Every word Harry spat seemed to cause a darker and darker cloud to form over Draco's previously jovial face. By the time he finally shut up, those things he didn't mean still heavy on his tongue, it was too late. Draco had taken more steps away, looking ready to run."

"That came out wrong," Harry attempted to backpedal, which wasn't much of an apology at all. " _Fuck_. Draco, that's not how I think of you. You know that…don't you?" Draco nodded feebly while scrubbing a hand over his chin. "Draco, I'm _sorry_ ," Harry pressed.

"I'm sorry, too," Draco muttered before shaking his head vigorously and stilling with a muted smile. "I was only taking the mick. You are brave and have every right to feel overwhelmed by your sense of honour now and again." Every trace of hurt or anger disappeared from his features, leaving behind a completely passive person. "Honestly, though, I think people have taken your coming out quite well."

"Yeah?" Harry asked as he stabilized himself upon the counter behind him. It was haunting, really, to witness the way Draco could force himself to disappear like that.

Draco nodded, settling up beside Harry. "Sure. I mean, _Witch Weekly_ 's even been running a poll this last week — 'Which Eligible Bachelor Should Be Harry Potter's Prince Charming?'"

"What're my options?"

As if he had been waiting this whole visit, Draco dug in his trouser pocket and flourished a torn-out magazine page. "I don't think you're properly prepared for this," he warned with a light-hearted chuckle. He was finally starting to look truly like the man Harry had been getting to know again.

"Bring it," Harry parried with a grin.

"Okay, so there's one of your Weasleys, of course."

"Which one?"

"Charlie?"

Harry snorted and mused it over. "Eh…."

Draco watched him carefully, momentarily folding the page over. "Not good enough for you?"

"Merlin, no, that's not it. I love Charlie. And he's fit — superbly fucking fit," Harry explained. "But Charlie cares about nothing but dragons and I would have no desire to compete with that."

Appearing to muse over Harry's answer, Draco bit his lip and bobbed his head. "Fair enough," he eventually said and flipped the page back open. "The other four selections are Jadyn Caldwin, singer of the American band The Bent-Winged Snitches—"

"The goth one? Hard pass."

"—Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum—"

"I dunno if Ron would ever forgive me for that. He might deny it, but I'm still convinced he's in love with Viktor."

"—His Royal Highness Prince William, Duke of Cambridge—"

"He's practically married to that Middleton woman, isn't he? Besides, Prince Harry really is more of a catch."

"—and, my personal favourite — the Minister for Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"No!" Dissolving into laughter, Harry snatched at the page to confirm and there, right at the top with sixty-seven percent of the votes, was Kingsley with his little gold hoop earring and stony expression. "These people are ridiculous!"

Beside him, Draco was shaking with chuckles as well, looking so damn proud. "Thought you'd like that," he somehow managed to work out breathlessly. "I'm convinced they're joke votes. Still, it makes for quality entertainment watching that percentage steadily rise these last few days."

Harry wiped mirthful tears from his eyes, shaking his head back and forth in utter disbelief. "I'm never letting the general public make decisions about my dating life."

"And rightfully so." Draco's breathing was also evening out as he wound down, leaving him looking downright giddy.

Harry's flat felt full of light once again and he couldn't help but to feel silly about hunkering down in here for so long, especially since everything appeared to be mostly fine. He was even thinking of seeking out those nasty opinion articles, simply not feeling afraid of them anymore. Not really. If anything, they might be amusing. Especially if he could pick them apart with Draco by his side, making him feel more at ease and ready to handle anything.

It was beginning to feel like he could conquer almost anything with Draco at his side….


	14. Oscar Wilde Quote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quote: "Be yourself; everyone else is already taken." - Oscar Wilde**

Mercifully, Draco insisted upon staying with Harry for the rest of the evening. After he'd forced Harry into a bath and a shave, of course. When he emerged feeling whole and refreshed once more, he found his flat looked just as clean. Draco sat waiting for him in the armchair, dinner and drinks set out for them on the coffee table.

It was on that mix of too much beer and an indulgent amount of fried wontons that Harry found himself sated and relaxed. Under this pliancy, his tongue felt loose and carefree — finally making him brave enough to voice some of the concerns roosted in his worrisome mind. "So," he began on a slur, "since I'm, like, _really_ out now, I should be setting a better example, right? Given my public status and all that Thestralshit."

Draco appeared just as far gone, his dress shirt unbuttoned most of the way and his mouth set into a permanent loose smile. "How do you mean?" he giggled and threw back the remaining dregs from his bottle.

"Like…like am I doing it right?"

Even the brunt Draco's eye roll was softened under their drunken haze. "Can I get more specificity?"

Harry threw his hands up in the air in spectacularly dramatic fashion. "Am I a good gay?"

" _What_?" Had Draco been any less of a of a prim and proper person, Harry was certain that question might have been accompanied by an actual spit take.

Groaning, Harry covered his face. "Don't make me ask again; this is embarrassing enough!"

Draco set his empty bottle on the coffee table before relaxing back into his chair with a long exhale. "What would a 'good gay' be to you, exactly?" he asked finally.

"Like…a real proper representation of our community. Do I need to look a certain way? _Act_ a certain way? Should I be out there mad shagging right now? I mean, I should have fucked a man by this point in my life, shouldn't I've? Or do I really need to wait for that Prince Charming to come around? What's the right way to do it all? How'd _you_ do it? Teach me, Obi-Wan Keno-gay, you're my only hope."

Draco merely blinked back at Harry, one perfectly delicate eyebrow raised.

" _Star Wars_ ," Harry groaned, secretly glad Draco missed the reference. He hoped he'd remember to show Draco the films one day. But, mostly, he just hoped for more moments like this in his life. "But that's beyond the point entirely. I just don't want to do anything wrong. I want people to continue to be proud of me. Can't you tell me how to do that?"

Another stretch of silence passed between them where Draco stared directly at the floor and Harry refused look at anything else but the man, hoping he'd eventually come around and answer him. He was genuinely worried and did really want to know these things. If the reception to what he'd done had been good so far, he wanted nothing more than for that to continue. Draco, being the leader of the place people like them felt they belonged, should be able to help him with that. Shouldn't he?

After a sobering minute, Draco finally spoke but still didn't look up. "Harry…has no one ever told you it's fine just to be yourself?"

With the alcohol weighting his head and blurring his memories, Harry wasn't sure if anyone had. Sadness welled in his throat and he swallowed to temper it. "Everyone has this idea of me. Sometimes it's just easier to live up to it."

"Yeah, I get that." Draco looked up, just for a second, then screwed shut his eyes. "If you're asking my advice, please just be yourself. To do this whole ' _thing_ ' right, you need to be authentic. That's the whole of it. Be you because you'll never quite fit in someone else's shoes. As for the rest of it? There's no set number of ways to be queer in any respect. _You_ get to decide what you want. What you want to wear. What you want to say. Who you want to shag and when and why and how you want it to feel. It's all up to you, okay? All you have to do is listen to your heart.

"Is that clear enough?" When Draco reopened his eyes, they were shining with emotion — sparkling, really.

"You make it sound so easy," Harry said, his voice hoarse and quiet under the weight of such haunting beauty.

Draco snorted, "You make it sound so difficult," and suddenly it felt like whatever spell he'd cast on Harry broke. The mood between them shifted back to happy, just like that. Like nothing had even happened.

Harry shook it all from his head — the pain, the loss, the regret, and the fear — and reached for the last bottle of beer. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You still didn't answer one of my questions, though. I'm assuming you've done the deed — you seem the type. So, how'd you lose it?" Even as he asked the question, a jealous fire filled Harry's chest. He had to remind himself this was all likely in the past to even partially calm it down.

Grinning, Draco leaned forward with a conspiratorial look and crooked his finger for Harry to come closer. Once Harry obeyed, his heart beating a mile a minute, Draco moved so his lips were a mere centimeter from his ear. The warm puffs of his breath sset small tremors down his spine, almost distracting him enough to miss what Draco whispered before resuming his seat with a teasing smirk.

"A lady never fucks and tells, Potter."

Now, _that_ was truly fuel to launch another thousand dirty fantasies.


	15. Bold

It was starting to become a solid fact that Draco Malfoy was a sleepy drunk. Within twenty minutes of their serious conversation, his eyes were sliding closed as he shuffled off towards Harry's bedroom. Harry, with his fuzzy head full of selfish thoughts, didn't even try to stop him. If anything, he encouraged the idea of a nap — "Just a short one to… to clear my head, y'know? I should head home soon…." — knowing full well Draco wasn't going anywhere until the morning.

After waiting as long as he could manage, Harry followed in his stumbling footsteps. He started by just leaning in the doorway, watching the man sleep. Draco had managed to make it to the bed before passing out, but that was as much credit as Harry would give him. Even without the context of his drunken state, it would have been very easy to see that he fell — literally _fell_ — into that bed. He rested on his stomach, only his right hand managing to utilize the pillow. His hair covered most of his face and his shirt had ridden up past his belly button. Overall, he presented an image Harry wouldn't hesitate to call 'downright adorable', even if it was sure to make Draco livid. He wished he owned a camera, but could settle for the moment with attempting to burn the image into his brain.

Well, maybe he couldn't settle for just the memory alone. Not with that pulling in his chest. That itching in his feet to move and take his moment while it was there. Which felt simultaneously so wrong and so so _so_ right. He bounced back and forth from foot to foot, contemplating his options.

The first was to walk away and sleep on the sofa like a good little Gryffindor. That would be the chivalrous thing to do, right? Give Draco some peace and quiet in order to sleep off the alcohol. Maybe he'd even try and wake early in the morning and make him a hangover-curing breakfast. That's what any friend would do, wasn't it?

His other option, the one which appealed to him much more, was to join him in that bed. He could very easily manage to squeeze in next to him. He could curl up close to him, matching that squiggly pose he'd fallen into atop the sheets — the night was so warm, they wouldn't even need them, especially with the heat radiating from their beer-soaked bodies. This was obviously the bolder of his choices, playing upon his fear of not quite being brave enough.

It didn't take much weighing for Harry to make his decision. Too self-aware of his shortcomings at the moment, he found his feet carrying him to the edge of the bed almost without a second thought. He pulled off his socks, using the few seconds it took to think over what he was about to do. What it could mean for his future or the future of the relationship he had built with Draco. It could mean nothing, after all they were just sleeping beside one another. Or it could mean everything, especially if Harry woke in the bright and sober morning with a desire for more — and most especially if he actually decided to finally take that more from Draco.

"You can worry about all that in the morning," Harry muttered to himself, biting his lip in one last moment of hesitation before finally relenting and crawling atop the mattress. As he'd planned, he curled up close to Draco, remaining face to face. Watching him breathe in and out steadily, the rhythm of it lulling him into a relaxed stupor.

Draco Malfoy truly was more beautiful than Harry had ever taken the time to notice before these last few weeks. But it wasn't just because he was flawless and absolutely carved from a slab of perfect marble. There was a lasting beauty in every one of his minor mistakes, too. His wrinkles and freckles and even that one little mole beneath his left eye. Up close, Draco was just as human as Harry felt, which wasn't really a fact he'd ever thought to dispute. But as he found himself comforted by that reassurance, he couldn't deny how he'd been holding Draco on a sort of pedestal.

Draco, with his life together. Draco, with his charity work and genuine nature. Draco, out and proud and happy with the life he had built. Draco — everything Harry simultaneously wanted and wanted to be.

Harry inhaled deeply, overwhelmed for a moment by the scent of beer and bergamot, and let it out on a sigh. He could have easily watched Draco sleep until the sun came up, but he too felt the pull of sleep behind his eyes. Against his will, they slid closed and his imagination filled the blank slate of the darkness with all the possibilities of a future full of more nights just like this one but so much better.


	16. Dialogue #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dialogue: "It's like you always said, there's nothing a little sunshine can't fix."**

Although he felt like death warmed over, at least Harry could say he was proud of himself the next morning. He'd extracted his body from Draco's carelessly flung arm without so much as a lingering look. He didn't even lean in and steal a kiss first and he tried his best not to think about how things could have gone differently if he had. Instead, he shuffled off to the toilet and resolutely shut himself behind the door.

It felt good to have a barrier between him and that still-warm bed on the other side. The space and change of scenery allowed his head to clear, the heat of his impulses fading away to a manageable dull ache. For good measure, he splashed cold water over his face and buried a heavy sigh in the towel when he scrubbed himself dry again. With his thoughts once again manageable beyond the curve of Draco's hipbones, he continued his morning regimen. He brushed his teeth, fussed with his hair for a few seconds before giving up, and rolled on a layer of deodorant. As a final step to clear the dull ache from overindulgence, he downed a vial of Hannigan's Hangover Cure. As a further show of good faith and manners, he grabbed one for Draco as well and made to exit the bathroom, but paused at the sound of his Floo activating.

For a long, tense moment, all Harry could hear was a muffled voice talking through too many walls. He froze, his hand on the door handle, hoping that whoever had chosen to visit him would be satisfied in his still being asleep and leave. That they wouldn't take a peek in the bedroom first. That they would allow him his peace and simply go.

Even he knew this wasn't a likely outcome. Harry had been absent from the world for over two weeks and that wasn't bound to go unnoticed. If Draco had finally come to check on him, others would, too. But why did they have to start caring right _now_?

All of Harry's building fears came to fruition when he heard his bedroom door creak open. He swore under his breath, cracking the door to the toilet just a hint. Even from his limited view, he could unmistakeably make out Hermione's cloud of brown curls. His heart quickened as she moved freely through his room, babbling to the form on the bed. "By the looks of your table, you must've had a late night. Or a few of them."

In the darkness — he actually had the curtains closed for once! — it was clear she thought Harry was the one lying there so haphazardly. She probably hadn't looked too closely, either, as she tended to veer towards more modesty. But she was bound to find out any second since she was making a straight bee-line for the window. She had a firm grasp on the curtains before Harry could even imagine a way to stop her.

"But, it's like you always said, there's nothing a little sunshine can't fix," Hermione sighed wistfully, throwing the room into the glaring reality of the daylight.

"I have literally never said that!" Harry said brashly, rushing back into the bedroom. Behind him, the violently flung door crashed back into the wall and there was no hiding the situation. "That doesn't even sound like something I would say," he tittered nervously.

Of course, it didn't take but a second for all of this to come crashing down on Hermione. She blinked first at Harry, clearly upright and awake, and then down to the bed where he obviously didn't lie. For starters, Harry's skin was much richer in melanin. And, since Draco had managed to peel off all but his briefs and socks in the middle of the night, his pale skin was almost comically on display.

After a period of absorption, Hermione slowly thawed from her shock. " _Oh_. I suppose it all makes sense then, doesn't it?" She hastily made for the bedroom door, covering her peripherals with a stiff hand even though it was already much too late.

On the bed, Draco was starting to stir. He was groaning and adorably confused, but Harry really could only handle one catastrophe at a time. After a second of waffling between his two friends, Harry threw the potion down on the bed with a promise to be back in a moment and ran out after Hermione, calling her name. She hardly turned to acknowledge him and kept on her steady path back to the fireplace. "Wait!" Harry urged, a hint of pleading in his tone.

"I'm not mad," Hermione clarified, unprompted, but stopped just short of throwing down her Floo powder. "But next time you're going to shack up with Malfoy, could you at least return my letters?"

Hermione might not be mad, but she was definitely hurt. Emotion clogged her throat, twisting her implications like a knife in Harry's heart. "It's honestly not what it looks like. Not even close!"

Harry had ended his statement with a nervous laugh and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to do. Hermione rounded on him like a wounded snake, fangs exposed and ready to strike. "Please tell me what it is, then! I've talked to every single other person you're close to over the last few days — Andromeda, Luna, Neville — none of them have heard from you since that article dropped. I even asked at the hospital, Harry! They said you cancelled all your classes for the foreseeable future and I…. Harry, I was worried. But it looks like you're doing just fine, aren't you?"

"Hermione, Draco just—"

"Just what?" A tear slid down Hermione's cheek and she wiped it away like it offended her. "Just understands you better that I do? I'm sure he does. I'm sure you two know each other _so_ well by now."

It was entirely unfair of Harry to be frustrated. But he found his fists and teeth clenching and simply couldn't keep from snapping, "Hermione, shut up!" wiping her expression just as easily as if he had slapped her. "I'm sorry," he quickly said and rushed closer. She stepped back as far as the fire behind her would allow, arms crossing over her chest in defence. "I am, just…let me explain. Please?"

Hermione nodded, just once, but remained otherwise closed off.

"I have not been 'shacked up' with Draco, okay? Merlin's beard, we're only friends." Harry sighed. "I hadn't gone to see him since the article, either, and he was also worried. He just came by last night, helped me talk through a few of my irrational fears. He had a few too many drinks and ended up passing out in my bed. That truly is all of it, okay?" Harry waited for another nod before continuing. "And I'm sorry for shutting all of you out. Call me a right numpty if you want, but I was just…scared. Which I'm sure is something you could never relate to, right? You're too badass a woman to ever be bothered with such a feeling." He ended his apology on a cheeky smile, hoping Hermione was in a place to receive his sarcasm. Testing how deep her anger might run.

Which didn't appear to be very deep at all. "Fine. You're forgiven," she huffed with a soft smile, exhaling heavily in what sounded like relief. "Just don't do it again, okay? You have too many friends to turn to with your troubles, so you've no excuse really." Her gaze flitted momentarily towards the bedroom before she leaned in and whispered, "Just don't shut us out for that prat, okay? I don't care how fit he looks in just his pants…," Hermione trailed off with an odd look, then shook her head and continued, "Are you sure there's nothing more intimate going on between you two?"

Harry managed a laugh — although he choked on it — and vigorously shook his head. "Just friends," he stated, his squeaky voice sounding less than convincing.

"If you trust him these days, then I support any future you might want to have with him." Hermione winked and pulled back, turning to face the fireplace. "And, for the record, you did used to say the sunshine thing. You used to use that line when you wanted Ron and me to watch you during Quidditch practice. I hope you know it was equally annoying to me then as it was to you today." She grinned once more over her shoulder and threw the Floo powder down into the roaring flames.

Harry watched her step through the emerald green of the fire, leaving him alone all too fast. But considering he had a mostly naked Draco Malfoy waiting for him on his bed, he had to say he couldn't blame her. The morning had been awkward for them all, but it was ultimately his mess to clean up. With a steeling breath, he made his way back to the bedroom, watching Draco fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt. "Did you take the potion I gave you?"

Holding his jaw tightly, Draco nodded and seemingly gave up on dressing altogether. He'd made it back into his trousers and two buttons into his shirt, which was definitely a decent accomplishment. He closed his eyes and just breathed in and out for a spell before finally gritting out, "Just trying not to let it back up. Already puked up everything from last night, so my stomach's just…churning." He wrinkled his nose and swallowed hard and Harry felt guilty for having helped him into this state.

"If you need to rest a bit more, please feel free," Harry offered.

Draco shook his head lazily back and forth. "I have to be at the centre by ten. We're hosting HIV screening this morning and Astoria is already mediating a visit with a girl's parents. I have to set up screens and chairs and… _snacks_."

"At least let me make you breakfast first."

" _No_." Draco's face further paled, if that was even possible, and he pulled a repulsed face. "No. Thank you. The potion should kick in soon." He finally opened his eyes again and levelled Harry with something between a wince and a smile as he resumed buttoning his shirt. "Hey, can I Apparate from here, or do you have wards up?"

Much to both Ron and Hermione's constant disappointment, Harry had never seen a need to put up wards on his flat. He figured enough people had tried to kill him in the past that there really couldn't be many left with a grudge against him. He gave Draco permission to leave as he pleased and leaned back against the wall to watch him finish lacing his shoes.

"Thanks." Draco's foot slid off the bed and he looked almost presentable again. The natural soft pink colour had returned to his cheeks, proof of the hangover cure finally starting to work its magic. "Feel free to come by later if you'd like. Never hurts to have an extra shoulder to try for days like this."

"Sure, I'll try to stop over."

Draco pulled out his wand, looking ready to leave before his face contorted with one last thought. "Also, about last night…." Harry stood straighter, fingers clenched in the back of his shirt. "Everything's a bit of a blur. Nothing, ehm…. Nothing happened between us, did it?"

Harry flushed deep red down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. He found it difficult to meet Draco's eyes any longer and forced an amused noise from his throat. "N-no," Harry sputtered. "No. My maidenhood remains firmly intact; you have nothing to worry about."

"Good." A flash of amusement crossed Draco's face. "Good. Because…if I ever shag you, Harry Potter…that's something I want to be able to remember."

With a delicate _pop_ , Draco disappeared, leaving Harry reeling.


	17. Nature

It would have been a massive understatement to simply say Harry was freaking the fuck out. He was on an entire plane beyond that point, living in a full-on state of panic.

After Draco left — after he said that _thing_ which absolutely broke Harry into a thousand tiny pieces — all Harry could manage for a time was to sit on the edge of his bed. He lost track of how long he stayed there, staring at the spot where Draco used to lay, his mind churning everything over and over — every laugh, every touch, every strange word choice. Once he started, he found he couldn't make it stop. He dissected the last month with intense precision, trying to figure out the clues he'd missed.

What he ended up focusing on the most, however, came down to that statement just before Draco left: _"_ _…if I ever shag you, Harry Potter…that's something I want to be able to remember."_

At least, that's how he thought he'd heard it. His heart ached at the idea of "if" and kept trying to convince him Draco had said "when". And the longer he obsessed over it, the more he was starting to believe in that idea of "when", instead. It gave him hope, which ballooned within him and clogged his throat with excitement. But it also filled him with a spiny sense of dread, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and tormented because….

What if Draco hadn't meant what he said? What if it was just a bloody _joke_ to him?

It all eventually became far too much to handle and Harry needed to get out. He'd cooped himself up in this flat for far too long, anyway, and it would do him some good to get out.

Needing a proper distraction, Harry found himself on Luna's doorstep as soon as he could no longer stand his own company. She accepted his dropping by with open arms, guiding him out to her garden. Upon her insistence, he was given a floppy floral hat and a pair of matching gloves. He felt absurdly silly, but in a comforting way. It felt good to panic about something else, even for just one second. Besides, when he compared himself to that fact that Luna gardened nearly stark naked, loosely clothed in a smock and nothing else, he seemed relatively grounded and that feeling did wonders on its own.

Without a single question about where he had been these last couple of weeks or why he was there now, Luna set him to the task of weeding a row of wolfsbane. It was menial, mind-numbing work and exactly what he needed. He tugged at every thistle with a vengeance, almost feeling a deranged sense of comfort any time one managed to prick him through his gloves.

Through the pain and the labour, he was able to finally put his thoughts into a semblance of order by way of a list.

**Signs Draco Malfoy Wants** _**That** _

  1. That first day at the centre, he called me "Harry".
  2. He took my coming out like a damned champion.
  3. We spent his birthday together — because he _wanted_ to.
  4. He willingly gave me his wontons that night, even despite saying he adamantly wouldn't.
  5. That thing with Rita Skeeter.
  6. He smiles a lot when I'm around?
  7. Last night. All. Of. It.
  8. This morning — he was practically naked in my bed.
  9. What he said, no matter whether he said "if" or "when".
  10. ??



As hard as Harry tried, he couldn't quite come up with a tenth indication to round out his list. It felt incomplete, somehow, at only nine. It didn't feel firm enough. There were too many questions beyond those nine things. Too many signals pointing in the other direction.

Feeling worse than when he started (if that were possible), Harry finished his task and sat back on his haunches. He was surrounded by the discarded catastrophe of his thought process and his head felt slick with sweat. With a heavy sigh, he slid off his gloves and removed the hat, fluffing the moisture from his hair with his fingers.

Luna giggled from not far off. Harry had been mildly aware of her moving about the garden, giving pep talks to all of her wilting plants, but hadn't realised how close she had drawn since he began. "Want to talk about it?" she offered after he gave her a tight and unconvincing smile.

"Who says there's something to talk about?" he sighed back.

"My poor flowers do." Luna plotted a course over to him, weaving carefully around sections Harry wouldn't have thought to be anything special. As she knelt down beside him in the dirt, Luna carefully scooped up a few of the leafy stalks he had uprooted. "You killed them before they even had a chance."

"Er, sorry, Luna." Harry examined the plants she held, but still couldn't quite see a difference between them or the ones he was supposed to pull out. "Herbology wasn't really my strong suit."

"You're forgiven," she said, even while looking a little long-suffering. "Did it work, though? Your brow's not quite as furrowed as it was when you arrived."

Shrugging, Harry made to stand, slapping the dirt from the knees of his jeans. "I'm just trying to puzzle through…something," he said vaguely.

Luna stared at him for a long minute, her head tilting to the side while she studied. Finally, she righted herself as well, gently squeezing his shoulder in a way that said she understood even without knowing a single detail. "You know, with puzzles, it sometimes helps to start from the end." When Harry's face only began to pinch once more, she squeezed again and clarified. "All that stuff in the middle? It usually doesn't matter. So, if you skip ahead, it doesn't seem so difficult."

"But I don't know the end? The end is the answer, but all I have are the questions. If I had the answer, I wouldn't be here murdering your poor flowers while I thought myself into circles."

She nodded slowly, her own forehead beginning to wrinkle. "Is this about Draco?"

Harry stood eerily still, like a deer stuck in headlights, fully aware he was flushing the colour of Luna's adorable little dusty-pink nipple. "No?" he just barely managed to croak out. "Why would anything be about him?"

Of course, Luna wasn't fooled. She tittered and pulled a folded letter from the front pocket of her smock. "Hermione wrote me this morning to say you were perfectly safe and merely spinning out but it was okay because Draco Malfoy appears to have fixed everything." As Harry made a mad grab for the parchment, she twirled away with a giggle. "But, if she knows, she didn't say how and I must say I'm curious, Harry! _Please_ tell me it finally happened!"

By the point, Harry was about a hundred shades past pink. He was full on lobster red and grinning even despite his humiliation. "There is nothing to tell! Honestly!" he insisted when she made to protest. "Nothing happened, despite what either of you two tarts want to imagine. Draco and I are _friends_. A-and…and that's all. Period."

Luna regarded him with suspicion but eventually shrugged and turned back to her pruning. "That's truly a shame," she sighed wistfully. She paused a moment, biting her lip, before shifting her feet purposefully. "I can't imagine I'm the only one who would literally pay to see the two of you finally go at it, you know. Two beautiful men and so much sexual tens—"

"Godric's _sake_ , Luna!" Harry shouted.

She waved off his affronted tone. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." It was her one eyebrow raised in suggestion that did it. She wasn't joking and Harry found that weirdly consoling. If someone on the outside of this mess thought them good together…well, why not, then?

And perhaps Draco was serious, after all. Which had Harry thinking what the harm would be in just outright asking him.

The worst he could say was no….

Right?!


	18. Walking the Green Mile

Harry came to realise that the worst thing Draco could possibly say was actually yes. A no would be simple and final and probably help Harry move on. After all, there were plenty of other well fit blokes out there. If he resolutely knew Draco wasn't interested, maybe he could finally start to notice some of them. He would be doing Harry a favour if he just said no….

Except, as Harry walked (read: burst) through the front door to the Equality Centre, he found himself desperately holding out hope for that yes. For the confirmation of a when and not an if. For a resolution to this whole damn thing so he could stop feeling so damn anxious any time a thought a Draco flitted through his head. He wanted it over. He wanted to start over.

He wanted a happy ending.

It was dark by the time Harry had built up enough courage. He walked through the centre with purpose, his shoes echoing through the emptiness. In the housing area, only a few people milled around. Harry nodded at them with a nervous smile, but no one made to stop him on his way towards the end of the hallway. In a startingly short amount of time, he was standing before the office door. His breaths came out rough and ragged, his fingers shook, his heart threatened to beat straight out of his chest. But it was time.

With only one last fretful half-thought, Harry pushed the door to the office open. He breathed a literal sigh of relief at seeing Draco sitting there behind that desk, a mere few steps away. Before he could hope to contain them, words tumbled off his tongue. "Okay, so, I know you needed my help earlier, but it was entirely unfair of you to leave like that. It's really your fault you were left shorthanded. But none of that matters because I just need to know…did you say 'if' or 'when'? I'm sure I heard 'if', but—"

" _Harry_ ," Draco interrupted before he could get the heaviest words out. "Perhaps we could do this another time?" He raised a brow and gestured to a space across from him.

Harry frowned and pushed the door open further, putting the chairs on the other side of the desk in perfect view. And sitting right there in one of them was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt, the fucking Minister for Magic himself. Because, of _course_. Harry paled, "Minister, I wasn't…." He cleared his throat and stood straighter, knocking his head back towards the hall. "Sorry to interrupt. I-I should've knocked." He took a step back, slamming into the doorframe and hindering his progress towards leaving entirely.

"Oh, it's no problem, Harry," Kingsley reassured him with a smile, even as Draco's head dropped into his hands in second-hand embarrassment. The Minister rose from his chair, straightening his woven indigo robes without a single hint towards feeling disturbed. "I do have to be going, anyway. I must admit I didn't notice the lateness of the hour." He smiled gently and reached across the desk to shake Draco's hand when he stood as well. "I'll have my assistant in touch next week about the policy proposal."

"Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt." Draco released his hand and made to walk Kingsley to the office door. "We appreciate your direct involvement in helping us find a solution."

Kingsley nodded, smiled, and stepped past Harry only to pause and turn back. He grasped Harry's shoulder gently, pausing briefly before softly intoning, "Harry, I feel the need to clarify that I would not be an appropriate dating candidate for you."

As he shifted his feet anxiously, Harry cursed the familiarity the Order had crafted between them. A confrontation like this never would've happened with Cornelius Fudge. "I think that goes without saying, sir," he attempted to chuckle, the sound coming out as more of a choking noise.

"Good, good." Kingsley released his arm after one last reassuring pat. "Have a good evening, boys."

Only once Harry was well and sure the Minister had left the building — that little tinkling of the bell over the doorway filling him with immense reassurance — did Harry turn his gaze back to the office. Draco still stood beside the desk, watching Harry with a sort of bemused expression. Harry realised he was waiting with annoying patience and too vividly remembered his reason for even being there. His pent-up bravado had dissipated with the last few flustered seconds, allowing all of those questions to once again take him over like a plague. "Er…was that about Athena's threats at the Ministry?" he finally asked, taking slow and measured steps back into the office.

Draco smirked — by the way, _fuck_ that smirk — and perched on the edge of the desk's surface. He crossed his arms, which did nothing to assuage Harry's nerves, and said, "Harry. Let's get back to the very horrific way in which I wronged you, shall we?"

The speech Harry had prepared on the way over filtered back to him in parts. He'd gotten most of it out before being forced to notice they weren't alone, and it would be ridiculous to start over. But without that carefully-laid plan, Harry found himself at a loss. He wasted time by gently closing the door behind him, then alarmingly thought that might send Draco the wrong signals. He promptly reopened it, just a crack, and winced up at Draco who still sat waiting for his accusal.

Finally, Harry sighed and planted himself squarely in front of Draco. With no idea what he was about to say, he opened his mouth and decided to let it just happen because he truly couldn't stall any longer under that pregnant expectancy. "You do want to, er…. You do want that, right? To…to _shag_ me. Don't you? Because I've been trying to pin that down on my own and—"

"Fuck's sake, Potter," Draco huffed. He shifted on the desk, planting his feet firmly on the floor and Harry could find nothing better to stare at than the way those trousers hugged his thighs. Which was a much safer sight than taking in whatever was going on with Draco's _face_. He was so good at concealing his emotions and it simply wasn't fair.

Luckily, Draco seemed content enough to do the thinking for the both of them. He was so sure in everything he did, Harry really should have expected it. But he still found himself gasping when Draco hooked him around the back of his knees with his ankles and yanked him closer. He stumbled forward at the insistent nudge, barely managing to brace himself before he toppled over completely. Of course, bracing himself meant his hands firmly planted against Draco's chest and that really did do wonders to make him _want_ to stay right where he was. "Sorry, I—" he began to mutter until Draco's fingers interlocked at the back of his neck, tugging him closer and effectively shutting him up.

The moment to follow felt inevitable. It felt like Harry was finally able to grasp a full breath of air. It felt perfect and like a fairy tale and all of those cliché's, even with Draco muttering something about Harry being a disgrace to all Gryffindors against his lips. Which, really, just didn't matter because Draco was _kissing_ him. Draco Malfoy was kissing Harry Potter and his hands were knotting in Harry's hair and he smelt like a home Harry had never had and it was a literal dream come true.

When Draco tried to pull away, it dawned on Harry that he was frozen in shock and made a pathetic keening noise while kicking into action. His hands formed fists around Draco's lapels, tugging him closer. He parted Draco's lips with his own, feeling goddamn euphoric at the sweet taste of him. This moment, this rush of his hips careening forward and his whole body flushing with intense passion, was nothing like Harry had imagined. It was rushed and frantic, biting and scratching and pulling and demanding. He couldn't fucking breathe but he didn't fucking _care_ because Draco was giving him everything he needed just by existing within the same space as him.

Of course, it all had to end eventually, just as all good things do. Deep down in the most carnal parts of himself, Harry knew he wanted more. He would happily rut into this man — feeling every inch of him answering in a glorious return of passion until they were both spent — if not for the subtle alarm bell ringing in the back of his mind. A warning, really, telling him he simply wasn't ready. That this was a milestone and he wanted to remember it all fondly, without a single hint of regret. He wanted this passion, but he wanted it delicately placed somewhere down the line.

Regret dragging out his resolution, Harry slowly pulled back. A speck of comingled spit clung to his lip and he licked it away just to be able to savour one more second of this thing they had done. "Not yet," was all he could manage to offer in explanation.

Draco's pout softened into a nearly-shy smile, his fingers gently untangling from strands of Harry's hair. Below Harry, he shifted his position on the desk so their hips could take a reprieve from one another's proximity. The absence of Draco's obvious interest almost felt like a betrayal, but it really was for the best.

"So…s'pose that's a yes about the _…shagging_ business," Harry said after a contented stretch of silence, his voice husky and dry.

Draco snorted, breaking some sort of untouchable spell between them, and caressed the back of Harry's neck one last time before his hands fell back into his lap. "You're extremely daft, you know that?"

Somewhere within him, Harry knew he should be offended, but he was simply too exhausted to manage it. "And you're an enigmatic prat."

"Ooh, big word, that." The smirk returned and Harry's heart full-on stopped. That look plastered onto Draco's face really should be illegal.

"You know, I think I made a mistake," Harry sighed while resolutely taking a step away. "You opened your mouth and ruined your entire appeal. It's just sad, really, how easily you fucked it all up."

Draco growled as he jumped to his feet, pushing Harry up against the wall. His kiss in comparison, however, was butterfly gentle and dripping with sweet affection. "Stay for dinner?" he whispered so earnestly it had Harry internally squealing beneath his cool and collected nod.


	19. Frida Kahlo Quote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quote: "At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can." - Frida Kahlo**

Draco hadn't kissed Harry in over thirty-three hours and he was going abso-bloody-lutely mad. Which, yes, was ridiculous because he'd managed to go through twenty-four years of his life without having done so. But now that he'd had a taste? It felt like he was being starved of something vital to his being and he could not _stand_ it. Especially not with that smug bastard sitting so perfectly still across the room from him, soaking up sage bits of wisdom from his small group of senior citizens — otherwise known as Embers.

The group met bi-weekly over dainty cups of Earl Grey and scones slathered in clotted cream. Draco had once described them as his favourite group of people because they were always so genuine. Upon finally meeting them, Harry could see why he was so enamoured. He wanted to be just like every single one of them when he grew old.

There was Reginald who Draco said always started the meeting with a fresh ball of yarn and finished it by wrapping a perfectly-knit scarf around Draco's neck. And May who complained of the tea being too hot, even when it cooled completely, but who also lit up with joy when Draco carefully procured an ice cube to help cool it down. Hector and Victor who had been together for seventy-eight years and who vowed nightly to one another not to pass on until they could finally and properly marry. Noel with that beard down to his knees. Eliza and the blue, pink, and white flag pin proudly affixed to her collar.

But Harry's favourite was swiftly becoming Rosetta. Having instantly locked onto his pinched face during their initial introductions, she had quoted Frida Kahlo to him at least three times in an attempt to console him.

"At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can."

Okay, at least four times now. Harry smiled politely and thanked her yet again, feeling strangely comforted by her small pat to his arm.

" _Gods_ , Rosetta, he gets it!" May shouted from his other side, pushing another scone into Rosetta's hands. The food seemed to distract her enough to give Harry a moment of reprieve. "Don't mind old Rosie," May muttered upon noting this, as well. "She's misplaced most of her marbles since she lost Charlotte."

Harry frowned, glancing up at Rosetta for a moment, before whispering back, "When did she pass?"

"Charlotte's not dead, dear!" May's gruff retort was much too loud for the hushed, relaxed nature of the group. Harry looked around self-consciously, but no one seemed to pay her much mind. "That strumpet ran off on Rosie for a little dyke around your age."

"Oh, I don't think we say—"

"Don't police me, boy." May's mouth mashed into a furiously thin line. "I've had enough women in my bed to be able to use the word 'dyke' as I like."

"Mabel." Draco cautioned from the adjacent table. "Safe space."

May merely rolled her eyes and waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. You young people are lucky to have a place like this, you know. I hope you appreciate it all." She slapped at Harry's arm. He rubbed the sore spot as she continued, a blush growing with her every word. "Especially you. I've never seen a wizard throw his sexual proclivities out to a newspaper like you did. Even Dumbledore kept his dalliances mostly secret until that Skeeter woman got a hold on them after he died. But you _…you_ just shouted it from your little celebrity hilltop and everyone loves you all the same. Must be something to be said for privilege, hm?"

Harry made to say something in his defence, but May slapped at his arm again. "All's I'm saying is, don't take that shite for granted. A lot of us endured much worse than you probably ever will simply for holding the hand of the one we loved. And I'm sure we would do it all over again if it meant making a safer way for a new generation of people like us."

A small, still-slightly-confused smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth as he nodded, attempting to process her harsh yet sweet words. He looked up at Draco for a little help and found him wearing quite a similar expression to his own. They shared a shy look between them before Harry forced himself to turn away lest he start to smoulder from the heat filling his chest. In the end, all Harry could manage was a simple mutter of thanks as his tongue was practically tied in knots.

The meeting concluded shortly after May's outburst of surprising comfort. Draco ensured every single one of his Embers made it safely onto the Knight Bus, bidding each of them a personal goodbye. Harry watched from the doorway of the centre, waving with a distracted pinch to his face. Rosetta had muttered that same quote to him another two times before she left, imprinting the words over any other thing he attempted to focus on.

"I think Rosie took a shine to you."

Harry looked up from the hole he was attempting to stare into the sidewalk, biting his lip and softening as he took in Draco standing in front of him. The Knight Bus was gone and they were alone — which was all Harry had been dreaming of for the last day and a half. But he couldn't hardly focus on his need to surge up and pull Draco down into a mind-melting kiss right now. He was too stuck in the idea of the past. "Does she have someone to take care of her?" Harry finally asked.

"Yeah," Draco reassured him, his voice soft and imploring. "She lives with a niece's family now. She has a few health concerns that require monitoring, which is really the only reason May allowed her to move out of her home." Harry's brows furrowed in question and Draco stepped closer, smoothing them with the pad of his thumb. "May has been a great friend to Rosie after Charlotte left last year. The girl she ran off with was Rosie's nurse and it just…. It broke her a bit, I think. But I also think there's something consoling about knowing she might've chosen to forget the lost love of her life along with a few of those other menial things like tying shoes or the importance of sugar in a cake." Draco chuckled at the implication of a memory, dragging his thumb over the arch of Harry's eyebrows and along the branches of the lightning scar on his forehead.

Leaning into the touch, Harry closed his eyes and exhaled, long and soft. This gentle way in which Draco handled him was still so new. It felt like a wound healing over — still raw beneath the touch, but with the reassurance of renewal. It felt like all of his wayward pieces were slowly stitching back together. It felt like he could literally endure anything for just one more simple caress or kiss.

Sighing wistfully, Harry grabbed the ends of the rich purple scarf Reginald had dutifully wrapped around Draco's neck before leaving. "It just seems so unfair to go through something like that at their age. Especially considering the difficultly of their younger days. I mean, that story Eliza just so casually threw out about being forced into a marriage and into having children with a woman before her transition? I just couldn't imagine…." He trailed off as Draco's face darkened, knowing he hadn't chosen the right example to lock on to. Maybe May was right about his privilege. "Draco, I didn't mean—"

Draco responded by pulling him closer and pressing his lips to the spot on the scar where his fingers had previously been. He responded with heart-breaking kindness, even while Harry could feel the tightness in those shoulders beneath him. He pulled Draco closer, pressing his fingers into the taut muscles in an attempt to massage them into relaxing.

"I'm not the Great Harry Potter, Chosen One who can do no wrong," Draco mumbled, his face now pressed into the nook of Harry's shoulder blade. "But I, too, can recognize I am more fortunate than most have been. It's why I look forward to these Embers meetings. Sitting with so much history in a room…it puts things into perspective."

Harry hummed his agreement, finally able to put a name to the feeling of hope filling him.


	20. Harmony

If Harry had known _this_ is what being in love with Draco Malfoy was going to feel like, he wouldn't have waited so long to do something about it.

Not that they were _there_ yet. They had been intimately close for just under a month and neither of them had uttered their feelings in such profound words. It was simply too early. But in his head, Harry did often find himself swept up in a moment where he could quite easily believe love was something on the horizon. It felt weirdly inevitable they end up there. After all, intense emotions of some kind had always run between them, and what was more intense than being in love?

But "intimately close" so far had only crossed the boundaries of kissing and some decidedly heavy petting through acceptable layers of clothing. Somewhere under the current of Harry's feelings, there was a whisper of caution — "I love you" implied so much more. Being in love brought a closeness he hadn't felt ready for. Or, perhaps "ready" wasn't the correct word for it. In that moment where Draco's thigh pressed so purposefully between his own, he sure as hell felt ready for anything. But there was still always that little zap of hesitation which ultimately had him backing off.

Every time, Draco was just as patient as the last. He would skim a kiss over Harry's jaw or caress his fingers across Harry's neck, whispering that it was okay and that they could wait. He spoke of the right moment like it was a dreamscape, ready and waiting for them.

The most daunting part to Harry was that it was up to him to decide when that moment would come. They hadn't gone into too deep of a conversation about it, but Draco had casually mentioned past exploits with other men. In other words — he was experienced. Matched up beside Harry's own virginity, the idea of not knowing enough to be good for Draco was daunting. It was mostly that echoing voice of doubt in the back of his head that had him ending things before they ever fully started.

"Sorry…." It felt like the hundredth time Harry had apologized over the past few weeks, his hand in the exact same position on Draco's chest as it had been those ninety-nine times before. He sighed heavily, his gaze falling to the contradiction of his own need straining the fabric of his trousers. How could his body want something so viscerally and still betray him by pushing away.

"Harry." Draco paused and waiting for Harry to once again meet his eyes — those silvery pools full of weighted acceptance — before continuing. "I've told you before; we can stop whenever you want. Don't apologize."

Harry nodded, casting his eyes back down to the incessant throbbing between his legs. "I just don't want to fuck this up," he muttered, his voice embarrassingly squeaky with emotion. " _Us_ or…or the sex."

He could feel Draco shudder beneath his palm and just barely looked up in time to catch a flash of lust spread across Draco's face. Draco could pretend to be as patient as he wanted, but it was obvious he wanted to go further. And the fucked up part was Harry did too. But he just couldn't help but to keep preventing that from happening.

"First times are messy," Draco whispered, leaning in to set his teeth to Harry's earlobe. The stress of Harry's own resistance began to melt away beneath the ministrations, his fingernails digging into Draco's t-shirt in a show of undeniably returned affection. "But they can be lovely, too," he added, now working those little bites down the thick of Harry's neck.

A carelessly wanton noise wrenched itself from Harry's throat and he shifted closer into Draco's body. If ever there were a more perfect time for Harry to be ready, he couldn't possibly dream of it. Astoria was on a date of her own, so they had been alone all night. Draco made a beautiful salmon dinner and served them both with an acceptable amount of sweet wine. There was soft, beautiful music on the wireless as they played cribbage and Harry felt light and easy all evening. At one point, Draco pulled him to his feet and danced him across the sitting room. He'd rested his head upon Draco's chest and allowed himself to be gently swayed wherever Draco wanted to go. In that tender moment, it had felt like they were one person with one softly beating heart.

Looking back, Harry had been the one to initiate the _more_ this time. He pulled back first, gently tugging Draco into an embrace of headier intentions. His hands were up Draco's shirt before Draco's had even begun to make their way round to his backside. He had been the one to suggest they move things to the bedroom, stumbling back down the hall. And now, as a result of his own actions, they were kneeling in front of one another on Draco's bed — each of them panting and gasping and clearly on the precipice of something truly meaningful.

Harry kept the night's events in mind as he pushed his fingers deep into Draco's hair, that same feeling of harmony washing over him again. Draco's skin felt like his own — alive and open and begging for completion. The hesitation was still there underneath it all, but with that oneness pulsing through him it just felt silly to him now.

He had been waiting for the time to come where he would feel ready. Couldn't this be it?

" _Wait_ ," Harry said again, more forcefully this time as he disentangled himself. "Wait," he whispered, more inwardly this time as he sat back on his heels. He shook out his hands and scrubbed over his face, needing to feel wholly himself for just a moment as he processed the direction in which his mind was heading.

Draco, perpetuating the perfectly chivalrous image he'd presented thus far, sat back as well and watched Harry cautiously. He pressed ever-so-gently, "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking…." Harry released the building lump in his throat on a heavy sigh. "I'm thinking about how much I want you to complete me — every single part of me." He huffed a laugh, fully aware of how cheesy that sounded.

"Are you asking me to…?" Draco's gazed dropped suggestively to the pillows at Harry's back.

With a full-body flush, Harry vigorously shook his head. " _No_. I mean…not tonight. I don't think, anyway." He made a frustrated noise and clenched his fists. "No. But I might be interested in less clothes? And maybe we could see where things end up?"

"So you'd like…?" Draco grabbed fistfuls of the hem of his shirt, brow raised.

"Yes, yes, exactly. Would you please just get naked already?" Harry laughed to combat the nerves laced through his words.

Draco didn't need telling twice. His shirt was on the floor in no time, quickly followed by his belt and (finally, _thankfully_ ) his trousers. He was a just as gorgeous kneeling there before Harry as he had been that morning a month ago in Harry's bed. His shoulders were dotted with a light smattering of freckles and his hips did that V thing with so much insinuation as to where it led to that Harry couldn't possibly hope to contain the reckless groan rumbling in his throat. "And the rest?" Draco asked with his thumbs hooked into his briefs as he waited for permission.

"Wait." Harry winced as the word came out yet _again_. "I mean…just one second?"

"One," Draco counted, drawing the word out as Harry set to shimmying out of his own clothes. He just wanted a moment to catch up and feel like an active participant instead of sitting there gaping like an overwhelmed idiot.

"Time's up," Draco said just as Harry popped the last button on his shorts, letting them drape slackly across his hips. Draco grinned lasciviously, surging across the mattress and capturing Harry in a breath-stealing kiss. That feeling of wholeness returned, lingering between them as Draco teased Harry's shorts the rest of the way off his hips and put them in a matched state of undress.

Once Harry managed to (rather awkwardly) pull the shorts off completely, all that remained between them was that last barrier. "We can stop here if you need to," Draco reassured, sensing the hesitance in the way Harry traced that deep V at Draco's abdomen.

Harry vigorously shook his head even before he was sure he'd made up his mind. Eventually his thoughts caught up with his body, affirming that although he was nervous, he couldn't fathom the idea of stopping now. "I'm good," he whispered and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth. With just as much softness, his fingers ventured further — past the waistband of Draco's briefs and into the warm swell of his desire. Little curls tickled his fingertips as he paused to allow Draco's stolen breath to return. Teasing him with anticipation for just one moment before continuing downward.

His fingers had just begun to wrap around the base of Draco's cock, freeing him from the constraint of his pants, when he felt Draco's hand mimicking the motion on Harry's body. It was on a plane of euphoria so far beyond anything Harry had ever imagined that he had to stop and blink away stars before he could even think about continuing. "You'll come for me, won't you?" Draco whispered and Harry felt like he could very easily do as he asked right then without so much as a proper touch. He nodded feebly, slamming his forehead into Draco's shoulder, shivering at his sight below.

Very well by magic, Draco managed to produce a handful of slick, clear liquid. He gently spread a modicum over Harry's shaft, wrenching a moan from him, before gliding the rest over his own. "Just do what I do," he guided, his free hand so gently caressing the back of Harry's neck while the other gripped him with sinful surety.

Harry matched Draco's motions stroke-for-stroke as best he could while his head was filled with so much haze. It felt like he was working Draco over in a dream, his encouraging noises sounding so far off through the rush of blood in his ears. For all the waiting and anxiety over what might be expected of him and what it would feel like, Harry felt almost silly. If Draco's moans and the little bucks of his hips were any indication at all, he wasn't even doing a half-bad job. It was like getting himself off, still half-immersed in a pleasant dream, except the smooth glide of Draco's hand felt far better than anything he could have ever imagined and it just… _broke_ him.

Their ends came swiftly, Harry giving in to the crest of his orgasm first with Draco following him over that loud and messy edge on a string of punctuated profanities. On the high of it all, Harry couldn't truly fathom where his body started and Draco's ended, especially as they collapsed into a sticky, sweaty heap across the middle of the mattress. Their limbs tangled together and their panting breaths coming in unison.

All he knew was his skin was buzzing and his heart was beating so wildly and he felt like he could very well fall asleep for days but it was all worth it because he very well might be in love with this man who touched him so gently he could cry and not a single thing he'd ever done before had ever made him feel so fucking complete.


	21. Serenity

"I may have lied all those times before," Draco managed to croak past the layer of sticky coating his throat. He smacked his tongue, a secret smile playing at the corner of his mouth. " _This_ is how you look the most beautiful." He stood up from where he knelt on his knees, skimming the tips of his fingernails up the overstimulated skin on the inside of Harry's thighs. "Sucked dry and blissed out. My little pillow princess." He arched over Harry's body where it lay on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, pressing kisses along his chest on the way up to his mouth. "Just a golden Adonis, worshipped in the way he deserves to be."

All Harry could manage was a groan, his arms wrapping loosely around Draco's neck. He accepted the kiss without a contrary thought, the taste of himself on Draco's sinful tongue weirdly stirring a lazy fire in his belly.

They'd been doing this all night, hastily groping one another in between small moments of sleep. Somewhere around one in the morning, they took a break for hydration and snacks — tossing balled-up pieces of bread into one another's mouth while naked on the kitchen floor. But, otherwise, they stayed between the sheets, attached at the mouth and legs entangled.

Harry found himself addicted to the serenity that came in the moments after an orgasm. After Draco's fingers turned soft instead of insistent, as the tingles wracked his body, with his limbs feeling like jelly and his heart so fucking full it could explode. To think he'd gone this long without such an all-encompassing emotion absolutely blew his mind.

As if reading his mind, Draco curled up into Harry's side and continued to whisper those sweet nothings. "You know, I've literally dreamt about doing all of this with you since I was thirteen." Harry could feel him grinning against his ribcage. "Back then, I suppose my imagination didn't quite include such vivid imagery as deep throating that thick cock of yours, but I did know I wanted you to scream my name like that. I wanted you to want me enough to…to want all of that. At the very least, I knew I wanted this." He gestured to the haphazard way they'd laid themselves out across the foot of the mattress, Harry more off than on and Draco cradling up to him like a child desperate for warmth. "I wanted someone who wanted me, no matter how messy I might be at that moment. And I wanted that someone to be you." He chuckled, sadness creeping in and tainting the warmth of it.

Fighting his heavy eyelids, Harry ghosted his fingers over the knots and divots of Draco's spine. He revelled in the way Draco became pliant under him, in the way he trusted him enough to wholly and fully relax beside him. "That sounds mighty unhealthy, Malfoy," he teased, earning a lazy swat to his stomach.

"I've asked you not to—"

"I know," Harry whispered, his eyes falling shut. "It just sometimes still feels like habit. Like…like, I see glimpses of that old you sometimes and I just still haven't reconciled the two people as one. But I'm still sorry. I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to be…new, too."

"I like you just as you are, Harry Potter."

Harry smiled up into the darkness and gave a happy hum as he allowed the heaviness of sleep to take him over.

"I like your scar and all it symbolizes. And that you still like to help people, even though it was initially something you didn't have a say in…."

Harry drifted off to the sound of Draco's voice, a reassuring stillness pressing into him with each passing word.

"I like that you mewl like a dying kitten when you come. And that the only word in your vocabulary when you do so is 'fuck'…."

In some far-off corner of his perception, Harry was aware of Draco sitting up beside him. "Harry?" Unable to find the energy to answer, Harry remained silent and still. A few moments of measured breathing passed before the pressure returned at his side, a soft sigh tickling his chest hair.

"I like too many things about you to name, honestly," Draco continued, either even softer than before or simply seeming that way because Harry was just on the edge of consciousness. "Your ridiculous glasses, your bargain-bin cologne, the way your hair always looks like you've just been ravished in a broom closet. And, _Merlin_ , I even find your sickening naïveté endearing. Which I suppose all makes sense…. You're the epitome of everything I wasn't supposed to want.

"Except…this is so much more than delayed teenage rebellion. I know you're asleep — and I honestly don't think I could tell you this if you were awake, not yet anyway — but I think you're the one, Harry Potter. That I might even…love you. Maybe I've been in love with you this whole time, since I was thirteen. I don't know, I just…. I just hope this lasts. I need this to last. I need a win for once…."


	22. Out of the Blue

Harry still wasn't sure he hadn't dreamt it all. Well, perhaps not all of it. His body ached from twisting in so much pleasure, so he was pretty sure most of the night had actually happened. There was also too obvious of a hickey on his hipbone to ignore the reality of his time with Draco.

The unsure part came after those exhausting hours of passion.

He woke that morning, filled with more questions than answers, putting him in a state of distraction. He managed to return Draco's lazy, waking kisses. But the longer he thought about what he may or may not have heard as he was on the cusp of sleep, the more he pulled himself out of the mood. He made excuses about planning for one of his St Mungo's classes, dressing in haste and leaving before the coffee even had a chance to finish percolating.

Before he could process where he was going, Harry found himself crossing the threshold to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was close to the centre and the most comforting place in his subconscious. Once he saw Ron smiling warmly behind the checkout counter, he felt affirmed in his decision and shuffled over to him.

"Mate," Ron chortled, waving Harry to a stool beside the counter. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look _rough_."

A nearly-hysterical laugh burbled unchecked out of Harry's throat and he willingly slumped into the offered seat. "Is there really a positive way to take that?"

Ron shrugged, turning back to watching a group of pre-teens surveying a display of trick sweets.

"I spent the night over at Draco's."

Harry watched his friend's eyes grow round before he answered. Watched his mouth slack a bit and his posture shift. However aware Ron might have been of Harry's budding relationship (or whatever it was) with Draco, that didn't seem to aptly prepare him for the conversation they were embarking upon. After that initial moment of processing, Ron looked over at Harry from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat before simply saying, "Oh."

If he were being honest, Harry wasn't ready for this conversation, either. He just knew he needed to talk things through with someone who could lay it out straight for him without flowery placations. "Yeah…first time…."

"Bloody _hell_ , Harry."

Harry could've sworn he blushed all the way down to his feet. Hiding within that feeling, he _thunk-_ ed his forehead down on the counter with his arms curled around his head and groaned.

"That bad, huh?" he heard Ron ask cautiously after a beat of silence.

"No…." Harry tilted his head enough to peek up at Ron out of one eye. "It was fucking fantastic."

"Please don't elaborate."

Harry grinned shyly and tucked his face back into his arms. "I came, like, four times."

He heard Ron sigh heavily. "Now, that just sounds excessive."

"He's really good at the whole…blow job thing. And with his hands. That's as far as it went, though. I wasn't ready for…for more…. Not yet, anyway."

" _Harry_." Groaning, Harry lifted his head to meet Ron's embarrassment full-on. "I know I've said you can tell me anything, but I lied. Okay? You've put enough filthy images of Malfoy in my head and I would like you to shut up now."

"Sorry," Harry said with an relenting nod. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair, using the excuse of working out a few snags as a means for the pause. "It really was great, though," he finally added.

"Good. Great. Proud of you, man," Ron babbled off, forcing a smile as the kids from the corner of the store made their way to the front. "Have a good day, boys!" Once the door closed behind them, he added, "Little sticky-fingered gits."

Harry's brow creased. "They steal something?" He made to leave his stool, feeling full of enough shaky energy that he really wouldn't mind running out after some little thieves for a solid shakedown.

"Oh, keep your shirt on," Ron snorted. He leaned against the back counters, clearly unbothered. "Nearly everything in here's covered with Anti-Theft Charms. The spell turns their hands red. Won't go away until they return what they stole. One of Fred's designs." The ghost of a nearly-forgotten emotion crossed Ron's face, but he seemed to push past it easily. "So…did you just come here to brag, then? I pulled some last night, too. You're not that special. Hermione's got a talented set of lips on her, y'know."

Although he supposed it really was only fair play, Harry still visibly shuddered at the wink and the accompanying unsavoury thought now planted in his head. "I get it; I crossed a line." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until all he could see what stars. Blinking the specks from his vision, Harry placed his hands flat upon the counter and attempted to ground himself. "But, no, that's not really why I'm here."

"Out with it, then," Ron stated, his voice velvety with patience.

"I think…." Harry exhaled heavily, following it with a long and steady breath in. Ron continued to watch him with that same, gentle look. "I think he spouted off, er, that big L-word."

"Lesbians?" Ron's snort effectively cut through the tension filling the air and Harry had never in his life felt more grateful for the friends he'd made.

After a moment of light chuckling and vigorous head shaking, Harry clarified, " _No_ , not 'lesbians', you prat." He practised that measured breathing once again. "I think he said he loved me. Well, he thought I was asleep at the time — and, I dunno, maybe I was — but I'm pretty sure he did actually use that word."

"Fuck."

"Yep."

It was Ron's turn to take a moment to process his words. As he stood there silently, his gaze focused adamantly on the register, Harry's heart beat furiously. It was one thing to think about that word having been used, it was another entirely to voice it aloud. In his head, it had almost sounded like a romantic notion, even though it definitely still freaked him out. But telling someone that it had happened? That twisted the situation too far into the realm of uncomfortable and weird.

"Is that, like, a gay thing?" Ron finally asked, interrupting the downward spiral Harry had placed himself on.

Truthfully, Harry wouldn't know a 'gay thing' if it bit him in the ass. So, he simply shrugged and said, "Maybe? S'pose I should ask him?"

Ron shrugged back. "Couldn't hurt, could it? Either that or just ignore it. If he thought you were asleep, maybe he didn't actually want you to hear it." Looking thoroughly impressed with his own advice, Ron failed to hide a proud smile by pursing his lips and looking away.

"So, ignore it?" Harry mused that over for a second. Despite the uneasy feeling filling his stomach, he ended up nodding. "Maybe that would be better. You're probably right."

Throwing a hand up over his heart, Ron stumbled away a few steps in mock-shock. "Don't think anyone's ever said that to me before. I am truly honoured, mate."

"Yeah, yeah, anytime," Harry chuckled, for the moment put at ease. He would just simply ignore it. He wouldn't think about it. He could do that. He _could_.


	23. Dialogue #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dialogue: "I know it will all work out, as long as we have each other."**

He actually couldn't.

Harry tried to go about his day as normal, like the confession didn't bother him. He tried his best to ignore it, he really did. And for short bursts, that worked, especially if he set himself to a task. By the end of the day, his flat was scrubbed nearly spotless, all of the clothes in his wardrobe had been sorted by colour, and he had an actual, physical itinerary written down for his next month of classes. But whenever he would still, even for just a second to catch his breath, that creeping feeling would return. It would hit him like a crashing wave, logging him down with too much weight for a crippling moment before he was able to delay the panic again by finding something new to put his energy into.

By the time a tawny owl appeared on his balcony just as the sun began to set, Harry had fully changed his mind on the whole forgetting thing. He was almost relieved to see his name in Draco's careful script on the parchment and nearly tore the letter trying to wrestle it away from the finicky bird. After dumping a pile of treats in front of it, the owl finally released the letter and Harry carried it back inside like it was the most precious and breakable thing he'd ever held.

He slowly settled into his armchair, flipping the parchment over and sliding his finger under the glittery-green wax seal. He could practically feel his heart in his throat, thudding away and choking him with anticipation because what if this was it? What if his running away looked just as suspicious as it felt? What if Draco decided to lay his love out on the table without the possible humiliation of a face-to-face conversation? What if Draco just wanted to see him again tonight and Harry was worried for nothing?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry sat back and unfolded the letter.

_Harry,_

_At the risk of sounding like an overplayed cliché, last night was spectacular._

_Furthermore, at the risk of you rolling your eyes, fuck you for making me daydream about you all day. I really do have other things to do than think about the verdant luminescence of your eyes._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco_

_P.S. If you're sitting in your flat freaking out again, I apologize for how insensitive this letter may sound. You're more than welcome to come over and talk to me. We don't even have to talk if you don't want to. I'm here, waiting in a bed which smells intoxicatingly like you, no matter what you might need. I know it will all work out, as long as we have each other. Which sounds even more cliché than that statement before, but I simply cannot find the wherewithal to care._

_P.P.S. You left a very comfy fleece behind. It's mine now and it's literally all I'm wearing at the moment… (There's a wink implied there, by the way.)_

Harry read the letter three times over before he felt satisfied enough to set it back down. His heart, now stilled to a normal beat, felt simultaneously full and hollow all at once. What Draco had written was so light and full of hope. There was the hint of a plea in there somewhere, a desire for a repeat of their night before. He didn't even sign off with a mention of love, which had Harry second guessing himself once more. It was all entirely too much and not enough and all Harry wanted to do was Apparate himself into bed beside Draco and simply hold him.

With a sigh, Harry picked the letter back up and once again read it over. By the time he reached the last sentence, he'd drafted his reply in his head and allowed the words to flow freely onto a waiting page.

_Draco,_

_Tomorrow's Saturday, isn't it? I'll be over early to help set up for brunch._

_-H_

His answer was short and simple, which felt like a betrayal considering how much Draco's dripped with intimacy. But if he began to put his feelings into words, he'd likely write a novel and none of it would make much sense, anyway, because he hadn't really settled yet on how he felt about the whole damn thing. So, he left it as is, tying it to the owl's leg while it was still distracted with too many treats.

They'd discuss things tomorrow. Maybe he'd have his mind made up by then.


	24. William Shakespeare Quote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **"Truth and beauty shall together thrive." - William Shakespeare**

True to his word, Harry showed up at the Equality Centre bright and early the next morning. Even despite the ungodliness of the hour, Draco was already elbows-deep into preparation for the weekly brunch, grinning almost shyly up at Harry as he mixed a bowl of fruit. "Good morning," he said gently after a quick blushing look at where Astoria and two volunteers were prepping more food. "Erm…Harry, could you help me set up tables in the events room?"

Harry nodded, his heart seizing at what was to come. If Draco was pulling him away, this was bound to be a serious conversation. Was he going to profess his love now directly to Harry's face? His hands clenched into fists at the thought as he followed Draco across the hall. Draco resolutely closed the door behind them, but did indeed make for the storage cupboard with his wand held aloft.

A few minutes of silent busywork passed between them as they pulled out the banquet tables as well as the round ones for seating. Only once all of them were assembled and they began to work on setting out chairs did Draco finally open the dialogue. "Did we move too fast for you the other night?"

And, boy, did he pick the most direct place to start them off. Harry paused, leaning on his arms over the back of a metal folding chair, focusing first on breathing before he could even think about responding. He'd worked himself up so much that his heart felt entirely too fast and it was almost like he couldn't breathe around it.

Harry wasn't even aware of his white-knuckled grip on the chair until Draco gently touched his hands. He was kneeling on the seat of the chair, looking so gentle and soft as he gazed up at Harry's panicked expression. He looked like something Harry could easily cave into — patient and inviting, even despite fearing the words which might fall from his lips.

"Harry, you have to talk to me," Draco whispered, his own expression beginning to fall the longer Harry kept silent. There might have even been the shine of tears to come clouding his eyes. "This only works if we're honest with each other."

"What exactly are we trying to make work here?"

For a brief instance, Harry felt Draco's hands nearly pull away from his. "What does that mean?" he snapped, that patience wearing thin enough to show his former self beneath it. Which satisfied Harry much more than he would ever admit to.

Instead, Harry simply clarified, "What am I to you?"

"Oh." Draco relaxed once more, rolling his eyes with a soft snorting noise. "Suppose you'll make me put it into words, then?" He tilted his eyes to try and meet Harry's gaze. When Harry pointedly kept staring at the floor, he sighed heavily and pressed his forehead into the back of his hands, pushing Harry's knuckles into the metal of the chair.

"I know you look at me like I should know what I'm doing with all of this, but I simply don't. I've never done this before — the whole…relationship thing." Draco paused, exhaling his insecurities. "That's what you are to me. You're something new; you're something to embark upon." He lifted his head, the apples of his cheeks just barely flushed pink. "I swear I didn't mean that to sound as sexual as it might have come off."

A small smile pulled at Harry's lips when he finally met Draco's eyes. He leaned in without a hesitant thought and kissed each warm cheekbone, gentle and feather light. "What we did the other night…," he mumbled before clearing his throat and continuing with more conviction. "It wasn't too much. That isn't what this is." He gestured vaguely at himself, well aware how sallow he might look. "If you're wanting something like a relationship with me, then it was exactly enough to me."

"Then…what?" Draco pressed, frowning.

The last thing Harry wanted was to come right out and say the thing he had been worrying himself sick over. If he invited that word into this conversation, it wouldn't leave, and he didn't want that on his hands. So, he thought back to the rest of what Draco had confessed to his "sleeping" form that night, drawing on the barest hint of his panic. "Do you really think I'm sickeningly naïve?"

At first, Draco's smile grew into a devilish grin. But once he must have realized what that question meant beneath its surface, the mirth broke way into something like terror. "You were awake," he breathed, standing up off the chair and dropping Harry's hands.

Harry simply nodded — he wanted to give Draco his time to process. Merlin knew Harry had already taken more than enough time to do so himself.

Draco ended up pacing across the front of the small stage while Harry continued to set the chairs out. A quick cast of _Tempus_ indicated they were running on limited time and he didn't want to be the reason anything was delayed. Once he had finished draping lacy tablecloths over every surface, he moved closer to the stage, carefully keeping his distance from Draco's manic path as he set props about for the drag queens and rolled out the purple, appropriately-named Magic Carpet.

In the end, nothing was amiss except for the stunning sight of a man battling with his own emotions over in the corner.

As Harry finally approached him, Draco looked up with eyes full of apprehension. "You weren't supposed to hear it," he babbled before resuming his frantic steps.

"I figured as much," Harry sighed as he sat down on the edge of the stage. "Ron's advice was to ignore that you even said anything."

"That is…surprisingly sound advice." Draco perfectly matched the long-suffering sigh, finally coming to sit beside Harry. They were so close Harry could smell the lingering scent of coffee on Draco's breath. "Why didn't you follow it?"

"I needed to know if it was true…."

Draco's hand found Harry's, twining their fingers together across Draco's knee in a soothing act of solidarity and raw feelings. "Of course it was," he whispered. An unexpected wave of relief crashed over Harry, physically relaxing his shoulders. "Then again, it is rather easy to feel some semblance of love for the person whose dick was just in your mouth."

That grin on those filthy fucking lips was so demure and contrary, Harry couldn't help but to melt. He hooked his knee up onto the stage, turning to face Draco while pulling him in by the nape of his neck in one swift, sweeping motion. His lips crushed against Draco's, their teeth clinking together. It was a violent and imperfect kiss — all mismatched in pace and motivation — but to Harry it strangely meant the world. He exhaled gently, curling his fingers more gingerly around Draco's neck.

This man beneath his hands loved him. He had loved him for so long, despite absolutely everything, and that could be okay. It _was_ okay. It was perfect and lovely and spoke of a future he could look forward to.

Somewhere in a realm so far removed from Harry's current headspace, someone cleared their throat. He forced himself to come up for air, putting a fraction of space between his lips and Draco's. For a moment, all he could handle was to blink dumbly as he returned back to his body.

When he eventually gathered the wherewithal to focus on something other than Draco's kiss-bruised mouth, Astoria was standing in front of them with her arms crossed and a smug expression on her face. "Look, darlings, I'm all for this," she gestured vaguely between Harry and Draco, "but can it not happen during function hours?"

Draco gathered himself soonest, managing to rake his hair back into place and hop down to the floor like all was normal. "My _boyfriend_ and I," he paused, winking over at Harry and effectively stalling his progress of recovery, "were simply having a discussion, my dear wife. But I think we're settled for now, right?"

"Right," Harry whispered unconvincingly.

Astoria continued to look sceptical, but she eventually shrugged and turned on her heel. "Talent will be arriving soon and they always prefer your help setting up, Draco. Wrap it up!"

"We are settled for the moment, aren't we?" Draco asked gently once the door closed behind her.

"I think so," Harry affirmed, jumping down as well. "But, er…I think you should know, I'm not there yet. You know, with the whole being in love thing?"

Once again calm and patient, Draco reached out to caress Harry's cheek and nodded. "I'll still be here when you are," he promised.


	25. Creativity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk for a minute - some of you may have noticed that I haven't posted the last few days as I promised. First of all, I feel so so so bad about this, trust me when I say I've been agonizing over falling behind. But, as you all know, life does go on outside of fandom. Basically, I made the leap to reach out to a fertility clinic and have since then been working on paperwork and obsessing over getting back into the swing of all of that crap. I've stressed myself into a spot where I'm not able to focus on writing and I hate it. But I am trying! For now, here's the next chapter and I do hope to be able to get the next few out soon. I love the story I've created and want to see it through to the end.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has patiently waited, I hope you're still enjoying!

Once Harry had felt his initial fears of everything moving too fast and too intensely — and once he subsequently realized those fears were ridiculous — the dust settled around them. There was nothing left to fight or worry over; he could simply live in every lovely moment. And every moment was lovely, indeed.

Harry truly and wholly had never felt like he did when he was around Draco. He was never as whole or complete as when he was by his boyfriend's side. And that feeling in the pit of his stomach when he simply thought the word "boyfriend"? It was like a cross between the wholeness of home and the fluttering of a thousand soft butterfly wings.

It was a vast understatement to simply say Harry was happy. He was beyond something so trivial, even if he couldn't put into words what that meant. So, instead, he simply grinned shyly when people asked how his relationship was progressing and muttered, "Good."

Even when alone with Draco in one of their homes or in a private momentary corner carved into the world, Harry found it difficult to express exactly what it was Draco made him feel. Draco would speak such poetic words, likening the shade of Harry's eyes to an emerald green mire from his childhood. And Harry…well, it wasn't like he didn't compliment Draco at all. He just couldn't find the creativity to put his thoughts into anything deeper than what one might say to their gran at Christmas.

On the subject of Christmas, it was quickly nearing on the six-month anniversary since that first, affirming kiss. Harry found himself resolute in remedying his inadequacy at least for one solitary and permanent moment. He was determined to give a grand gesture of a gift, even if he wasn't cut out for the creation of it.

"Please feel free to tell me no — y'know, if you're not comfortable with it or something," Harry said, finishing off his proposal to Hermione and Luna who both sat before him wearing untelling pinched expression. "I just can't seem to manage more than 'Draco, you're pale like a ghost and I'm into it', and somehow that doesn't sound romantic."

Hermione snorted a laugh, breaking any tension as she grabbed for the rough ( _very_ rough) draft of Harry's soul-bearing letter. She scanned it over, her eyebrows rising higher into her fringe with every line. As she finished, she slowly passed the scrap of paper over to Luna and breathed a long sigh. "Harry." He winced at her earnest tone. "Malfoy's going to break up with you if you give him that."

Harry sucked on his teeth, laying back on Hermione's sitting room rug. These weekly download sessions had become a thing for the three of them now that Harry found himself much busier with keeping a relationship alive as well as helping out at the centre. It began with wine in the early afternoon, followed by dinner with Ron and sometimes Luna's occasional romantic interest to round out the evening. Harry looked forward to seeing his friends weekly, to being open and honest with them as well as himself. Next to dating Draco, it was his favourite thing to arise from his coming out.

Yes, even when Hermione spoke to him like this. At least she kept him grounded.

Luna refilled her glass with a perfectly steady wand as she too consumed the note. "It's not terrible, Harry," she placated when she finished, followed by a deep gulp of her wine. "If you're intending it to be silly, that is."

As if Luna, with her jumper made of tinsel and bells, could ever be the authority on the difference between silly and serious. "I just want him to know…," Harry muttered to the ceiling. "I want him to know that I see stars whenever he touches me."

"Oh, that's good!" Hermione exclaimed. "We can use that."

"No, we can't," Harry groaned. "He said those words, verbatim, to me last night."

"Oh." Nodding, Hermione sat up straighter and began to work her hair up into a ponytail. She looked deathly serious and Harry had never loved her more. "Well, let's start at the beginning, then, shall we?"

Over the next few hours, the three of them workshopped the hell out of Harry's love note. By the time Ron arrived home, haggard from a long day of battling holiday shoppers, the words Harry had initially written were practically non-existent beneath all of the revisions. But even he couldn't deny what they'd come up with as a collective was much more beautiful than anything he could have dreamt of on his own.

Even if the words and sentiments behind them weren't wholly his.

"You know, Harry, I particularly like this bit here," Hermione mused over a bite of her dinner later that night. "' _I have never longed for anything more than to fall into the endless silver sea of your gentle gaze._ ' It's all very romantic."

"Except, he's going to know that I didn't write any of it," Harry parried. He had been so sure this was what he wanted when he asked his friends for help earlier in the day. But after the warm comradery of the wine faded away, he was left feeling slightly slimy.

Ron waved away Harry's concern, scanning the page where it lay between him and Hermione on the table. "Just rewrite it in your own handwriting; he'll never know the difference."

Harry turned to Luna beside him, questioning look on his face. She literally chewed over her input for a moment before gently saying, "If what we wrote together isn't in your heart, Harry, then he might know it didn't come solely from you."

Groaning, Harry relaxed back into his chair. He pushed his plate away, suddenly no longer hungry. "If I don't give it to him, we wasted an entire afternoon. Besides, mine was shit. Christmas is in, what, six days? What other options do I even have?"

"Have you considered…a different gift?" Ron asked.

"Like what? A bottle of cologne he'll probably hate?" Harry snorted. "Or a voucher for Argos? No, I want this to be special. I want it to be different. I want him to open it up on Christmas and have no fucking clue what's inside. Like, I want him speechless and teary-eyed. And this could do that, even if it feels a bit like a lie."

While Ron huffed an impressed expletive, Hermione smiled gently at Harry and Luna reached out to squeeze his hand. He cowed at the blush crossing his features. "And now you're all looking at me like I've grown two heads.…"

Luna rose from her chair, coming around behind Harry to wrap her arms securely around his neck. He sat there stiffly, trying not to shirk away from her crushing hold or the sloppy kiss she pressed into his cheek. "I don't know that any of us realized how deep your feelings ran, Harry, that's all. So, we'll work on it some more. We'll make it more you. By the time we're all finished, we'll have Draco bawling in your lap over Christmas pudding. Okay?"


End file.
